


The Lesson

by cjwritesfanficnow



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blanket Permission, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Jedi Culture, Jedi Culture Respected, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, One-Sided Relationship, Time Travel, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjwritesfanficnow/pseuds/cjwritesfanficnow
Summary: Jango hadn’t been sure what to expect from being dead. He’d grown up with stories of Manda, the warriors marching far away, looking over them as they plodded through their lives.But, frankly, he hadn’t expected that to be true.---This was a lesson. And a test.Remember the lesson.“I will,” Jango said softly, reaching out to trace a finger over the symbol of the Haat Mando’ade, still painted proudly on his armor. “I’ll remember.”---My take on the time travel trope with Jango Fett as the time traveler, after he's forced to watch the aftermath of all his bad decision making in the afterlife. It's gonna be one hell of a ride.Eventual Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi relationship. WIP - Will update sporadically.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 442
Kudos: 2146
Collections: Jedi Journals, the peasant's guide to fine reading





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I normally just write without posting anything because I can't finish anything, so that's a warning for you right there... But I do intend to work on this overtime, though updates will probably be sporadic.
> 
> I absolutely love the way Mandalorians are represented in the fics on this site! And Jango/Obi-Wan needs more content for sure, so I had to post this to do my part.
> 
> I have some other Mandalorian-centric fics that I'll post in an "unfinished/one-shot/slice-of-life" sort of collection.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it!

Jango hadn’t been sure _what_ to expect from being dead. He’d grown up with stories of Manda, the warriors marching far away, looking over them as they plodded through their lives.

But, frankly, he hadn’t expected that to be _true._

As a child, he’d loved those stories—the _ka’ra,_ all of the _Mand’alor’e_ who had come before and were marching on ahead of them—but he’d gotten cynical, somewhere between his first _buir’e_ dying, and Jaster, and Galidraan, and everything that came after that.

So Jango hadn’t expected to die, and then _wake up again._

But there he was, on one of the cruisers the _Kaminiise_ had ordered for the _vod’e—_ for the Republic. He was standing beside Kote, one of his first sons, one of the few Jango had been able to train himself. Kote was staring down at Kenobi, the copper-haired _Jetii_ who’d been the one to find them on Kamino in the first place. The one who’d fallen into Tyranus’s trap, and triggered the war.

“I promise, Commander, I _am_ fine. Truly,” Kenobi sighed, and Kote raised an eyebrow.

“I believe you, sir,” he answered calmly. Kenobi’s smile turned a bit _relieved,_ and then Kote added, “If we can just find Cross to sign off on clearing you, we’ll get you out of here.”

Kenobi’s polite smile did not change, but his eyes flashed stormy grey. “Oh, he’s terribly busy. I’m certain he’ll send along the datawork later—”

“Protocol, sir,” Kote said, shrugging. Kenobi sighed, and Kote took pity on the man, lowering himself into the seat beside the bed. Jango jumped back as Kote went _through him._

 _Osik,_ but this was weird.

“There are a few reports we could go over, while we wait,” Kote offered, and Kenobi nodded eagerly.

* * *

Jango didn’t know why Kote and Kenobi were the two that he seemed to follow. It wasn’t entirely smooth, either—he would just _appear,_ mid-battle, or mid-conversation, beside one of them; from their conversations, Jango could also tell that it wasn’t linear, exactly, though he never seemed to jump far enough to lose context.

At times, Jango thought Kenobi could sense him, as the _Jetii_ would look up, fixing his gaze near where Jango was standing, but he never commented on it, or outwardly reacted, other than those small glances. No one else ever seemed to notice him.

Kenobi was one of the High Generals, and Kote was promoted quickly to Marshall Commander, which meant that Jango got a very good idea of how the rest of the war was progressing.

And how many of his sons died.

It made him _rage,_ every time he saw the _pain_ in Kenobi’s eyes, in Kote’s, as they looked over casualty and after-action reports. This wasn’t what Jango had wanted.

But… it had been, hadn’t it? He had been perfectly _fine_ with this plan, with _using_ the clones to destroy the _Jetiise._ Right up until they had actually been born (not _decanted)_ , and Jango realized he’d made a mistake.

They weren’t just clones, they were _people,_ but by the time he realized it, it was far too late to do anything for them. So he’d given them the best training he could, hoping they would keep themselves alive, and he’d shouted down the _Kaminiise_ to save as many of them as he could from the “decommissioning” that Jango understood was _murder._

But it wasn’t enough, and he’d died before he could do _more_ (and he had had _plans,_ dammit—plans for his sons, for Mandalore, cut short by his own bad decisions and a kriffing purple _Jetii’kad),_ and now he was being forced to watch as they fell, one after another. _His sons._ His _people._

Jango knew he didn’t deserve any kind of peace in his afterlife, but this was… well, _Hel_ was the only way to describe it.

* * *

Kenobi wasn’t what he expected from a _Jetii._ He was… ridiculously kind, and stupidly self-sacrificing, with some sort of inferiority complex that seemed to make him think he wasn’t worth taking care of.

He watched, mostly through Kote’s interactions with the man, as time after time, Kenobi did something _idiotic_ that just barely managed to work out. Most of his desperate maneuvers were to save his men, the _vod’e,_ and Jango found himself grudgingly respecting him.

He watched over the quiet conversations between Kote and his General, learning the _Jetii’s_ surprisingly tragic story. Slowly, as Kenobi opened up to Kote, telling him more and more of his life, Jango found himself almost _pitying_ the man. Kenobi had never seen a way forward in life but being a _Jetii,_ and he had been told he would never become one at every turn, by _his own people._ By the _Jetiise_ themselves.

“Too angry,” Kenobi sighed, a lopsided smile on his face. Kote raised an eyebrow, Jango, unseen, mirroring the expression. “The Masters all believed I had too much of a temper to become a successful Knight.”

And then Bandomeer, and Melida/Daan, his Master’s _cyare_ dying, and…

Jango had _raged,_ at first, when he learned that Kenobi had been one of the _Jetiise_ sent to _Manda’yaim_ to help the Duchess overtake it. And the fact that he had _loved her!_

That bitch was _Dar’Manda._ She had killed everything that _made them Mandalorian._ And then, later, they all watched her die, the Sith who had slaughtered Kenobi’s Master taking someone precious from him yet again. Jango couldn’t say that he regretted Satine’s death, but shattered look in Kenobi’s eyes was one he was familiar with, and it hurt.

Fuck, but Kenobi was tragic.

* * *

It wasn’t all harrowing battles and melodramatic Skywalker moments. Some of Jango’s favorite pieces of their lives were those spent in transit on the _Negotiator,_ when he could laugh along with his sons as they played pranks to pass the time, or played sabacc, or gave each other ridiculous dares.

Kenobi was always right there with them. Jango got glimpses of other “nat-born” officers, as his sons called them, and few of the others ever made much of an effort with the _Vod’e,_ not like Kenobi did. He joined their games of sabacc, gave them Corellian brandy when he had some (and drank their rotgut ship-brew when he didn’t, all while pretending it wasn’t contraband), and trained right beside them. He was off-limits in their prank wars, but would often advise them on how to improve their plans, or give them helpful tips about their target’s upcoming duty schedule.

At night, Kenobi didn’t sleep much, and neither did Kote. The two of them would hole up in Kenobi’s quarters—which had the honor of being larger than Kote’s, as he was the General the karking ship was _named after,_ but it wasn’t by much—and plan their next campaign, talk about the _Vod’e_ under their command, or simply sit in silence doing their datawork.

Those moments on the ship, sometimes quiet and peaceful, sometimes rowdy and joyful, were Jango’s favorites. But it was more apparent on a battlefield than anywhere else just how much Kenobi actually valued the _Vod’e’s_ lives. He threw himself into danger more and more often, becoming ever more desperate to save his men, his _friends,_ as the war dragged on. The anger and exasperation and guilty glee that his sons felt was apparent when they gave Kenobi a combined dressing down and thank you, and Jango couldn’t blame them.

His sons felt the same way about Kenobi as he did about them—they _loved_ him. And as the war went on and Kenobi spent more and more time in the medbay after some ridiculous move to sacrifice himself for his men, Jango grudgingly began to admit that he could understand why.

* * *

Jango was spared nothing, when Ventress captured Kenobi. He flashed from place to place, watching the ripple effect his “death” had on the others.

First was Skywalker, sullen and angry. He got black-out drunk for the first time, the night after he was released from the medbay after the retreat off Jabiim. He had sobbed in his bed, holding Kenobi’s cloak.

Then Jango had seen that Kenobi _wasn’t_ dead, but that didn’t help him feel any better. Ventress was _savage_ with him, and Jango thought if he still had a physical body he would’ve been sick, watching the maggots burrowing their way under Kenobi’s flesh. But he thought, maybe, the mask was the worst of it, in ways he couldn’t ever understand.

And then there was Kote again, looking like he wanted to kill Skywalker (which Jango wouldn’t have minded; the kid was a karking _menace,_ and the fact that he was a Jetii didn’t help Jango’s opinion of him). Skywalker, who had insinuated that it was their fault that Kenobi had been taken when _he_ had ended up leading the mission.

It hurt, that Kote got so angry, because Jango knew that meant he thought the same of himself.

* * *

Kenobi and Alpha-17 had nearly rescued themselves when the others got to them, and Jango breathed a sigh of relief (metaphorically, anyway; he didn’t truly _breathe_ anymore, just like he apparently didn’t need to sleep).

He told himself that he was just relieved not to have to watch that anymore, and it had nothing to do with Kenobi and his ridiculous, inherent _goodness,_ and how he didn’t deserve any of that.

* * *

He watched Kenobi argue with the Council, only to be bullied into submission, and lead his men to believe he was dead. Again.

Jango had to watch as Kote cried himself to sleep every night for two weeks. He had to watch as Skywalker grew more reckless and _furious,_ and Tano warred between crushing sadness and that same fury, fed by her Master's own upset.

And then Kenobi came back, and things… didn’t feel the same. There was a distance between him and the men that hadn’t been there before, as if they realized that there _was_ something Kenobi held in higher esteem than them: _duty._

No one was cruel to him, and they were happy he was back, they had the realization that, when it came down to the decision between duty and the _vod’e,_ Kenobi would do his duty (which, Jango knew from hearing _countless_ lectures Kenobi tried to get through Skywalker’s skull, was the very definition of renouncing attachment).

Kenobi got even worse, when the distance between him and his men resulted in fewer of them bullying him into basic self-care.

Still, the war went on, and Jango’s sons died, _Jetiise_ dying right alongside them. It didn’t give him the satisfaction he’d thought it would.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, Kenobi became Obi-Wan. Jango refused to think too much about that.

He _did_ start wondering what was wrong with him, though, when he actually _shouted in excited approval_ as Kenobi finally killed that _shabuir_ Grievous.

The last bit of genuine _glee_ Jango felt in all this, though, was when he heard them say that Skywalker had killed Dooku. For some reason, he hadn’t gotten to see that battle.

But it didn’t matter how it had happened—the bastard was dead. The man who had led the slaughter of his people on Galidraan, the man who had condemned his sons to death, was _dead._ Jango could almost fool himself into thinking he didn’t even care about what he might see next, with the dark satisfaction purring in his chest.

* * *

The moment Order 66 was called was something Jango dearly wished he could forget. Watching his _sons_ go from _independent individuals_ to the flesh-droids he had always known they would become only underscored how badly Jango had failed them.

If he’d been alive when it had happened, Jango thought he might well have killed himself. There would be no redemption after that.

(He couldn’t quite lie to himself, this time, about the _relief_ he felt when Obi-Wan emerged from the water and snuck around them—not killing a single one—to escape in his fighter from Utapau.)

* * *

Jango wasn’t surprised when Skywalker became a _Dar’jetii._ Honestly, he didn’t think Obi-Wan was _surprised_ either, not really. He had seen the signs, and tried to help as much as he could, only to be soundly rejected at every turn.

He _was_ surprised that Obi-Wan agreed to fight him, but it didn’t surprise him how the battle ended. Skywalker might have been _technically_ more powerful than Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan was one of the youngest Masters in the Order, _the_ youngest Master on the Council, for a _reason._ He made up in skill what he might have lost in power by parsecs.

Jango was disappointed when Obi-Wan didn’t finish Skywalker off, letting the fire do it for him, but he understood. More than Kenobi would ever think—Arla hadn’t been killed, in the attack on the farm. She had been _taken,_ and probably tortured by _Kyr’tsad._ Jango never found her—and they had _looked—_ but he admitted to himself that if they met again, and she had been tortured and brainwashed into one of _them,_ Jango knew he wouldn’t have been able to kill her.

It wasn’t Skywalker Obi-Wan killed on Mustafar, Jango thought, watching him take a ship and Skywalker’s son to Tatooine. Some part of Obi-Wan had died when he raised a lightsaber against his own brother.

Jango knew that look, and he knew how that felt. It’s what had turned him into the _demagolka_ that he’d become, the kind of man that would create _millions_ of sons just to lead them to slaughter, just to condemn them to have their minds and souls stolen from them. Too much of what had been _good_ in Jango had died on Galidraan with the _Haat Mando’ade._

He hoped that wouldn’t be true for Obi-Wan. That _goodness_ also seemed to be his strength, and Jango knew how hellish it was to crumble. He didn’t want that for him, _Jetii_ or not. 

* * *

Obi-Wan felt it every time another _Jetii_ died, Jango realized. And it was horrible.

This was what Jango had _wanted,_ what he’d focused on and longed for, what he’d _dreamed about,_ and now…

Now it made him want to live again, just so he could let Obi-Wan shoot him, or take his head off with a ‘saber a second time.

Obi-Wan became Ben, and Ben _was_ different. Ben was quiet out of grief rather than thoughtful observation; Ben didn’t sleep because of night terrors, not because he had too much work to do; Ben drank cheap whiskey instead of tea.

For years, the only bright spot was little Luke, and Jango found himself grudgingly liking the kid. He showed guts young, even if Jango could _definitely_ tell he was Skywalker’s spawn. It helped that seeing him made Ben smile.

But then Luke had a tantrum, when he was three, and he was upset. Luke lashed out with his powers and shattered all of the tableware in the cabinets. Lars had banned Ben from their home, after that, blaming his influence. Jango was offended on Ben’s behalf—Lars must be fucking _blind_ not to see that Ben might be sad, and technically very dangerous, but he was still _good,_ and would never encourage such behavior in Luke. If anything, they _needed_ Ben to teach him control.

Instead, Owen Lars decided to yell at Luke whenever he used the Force, and over time, it stopped completely. Jango dreaded the accident that was sure to happen from keeping all of that bottled up, but it seemed nothing ever did.

* * *

Without Luke to steady him, Ben grew even worse. He definitely had PTSD, and wasn’t coping well, though that was no surprise, since he never had any real social interaction, and was instead stuck in a desert, trapped with his memories alone. Jango followed behind him as he traveled the desert with a bantha herd, and when he got desperate enough to become allies with the Tusken raiders, becoming someone they tolerated, even if they could not, strictly speaking, communicate much.

And Jango watched as they demanded that he _kill a krayt dragon_ to earn their favor, and watched, sad, as Ben shrugged and agreed easily. This was it, he thought—this was Ben, finally breaking. He knew he couldn’t win this fight.

But he didn’t have to, as it turned out. He _did_ fight the dragon, but seemingly to a _draw._ The dragon became another of his companions, after that, much to Jango’s consternation.

* * *

Jango really, _really_ wished he had a body again when karking _Qui-Gon Jinn_ appeared to Ben.

Jinn had tilted his head, looking from Ben, sprawled on the floor, leaning up against his bed, with several empty bottles lined up neatly beside him, and sighed. “I shall return when you have cleaned this up, and dried yourself out, Padawan.”

Fuck, but Jango had wanted to hit him. He had _no right_ to talk to Ben that way, not after all the damage _he himself_ had caused—

But now, with something to motivate him, and his Master’s firm hand guiding him, Ben seemed to improve a bit. He began meditating again (something Jango eventually realized he had avoided because he could _feel_ the absence of the other _Jetiise_ in the Force, just like he felt when they died), and making somewhat regular trips into town. He would still watch Luke from a distance, making sure he was happy and safe, and he would smile, softly and sadly, as the boy slowly grew. And Ben would train with Jinn, trying to project himself into a ghost others could actually see.

Jango almost wished he had enough of the Force to be able to use the technique himself, and actually _control_ what was happening to him now, but it wasn’t to be.

* * *

Jango didn’t feel any _rage_ when he and Ben heard from some of the people in the market in Mos Eisley that the Empire had Purged the _Mando’ade,_ just as they had the _Jetiise._

He only felt guilt. He had been _Mand’alor,_ and he had given their enemy the tools he needed to slaughter them. Jango had failed his people even more than he ever had before, and now they were _all_ dead—New Mandalorians, _Kyr’tsad,_ the few _Haat Mando’ade_ who still lived.

They were all dead, and the blame for it was on Jango’s shoulders as much as it was the Empire’s.

(He wondered for a moment if any of his sons had been part of the culling of the Mandalorians, someone with _his face_ killing their own, marching on _Manda’yaim,_ but he abandoned that thought quickly. He couldn’t… Jango just couldn’t.)

* * *

Jango wasn’t surprised that Skywalker—now Darth Vader, and, Ben was right, more machine than man—killed Ben. He wasn’t surprised that Ben let it happen, given that he’d been training for this for _years_ with Jinn.

He did laugh out loud at Ben’s last words: “ _If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine._ ”

It sounded melodramatic, but was perfectly honest, which was enough like General Kenobi to make Jango _reminisce_ a bit.

He thought he saw one of his sons on that Death Star (and what a _terrible_ name, who was in charge of that decision? Jango though the Emperor should have had them executed for the suggestion, personally), but refused to think too hard on that. They were dead, they had died with Order 66.

Jango couldn’t bear to think otherwise.

* * *

He switched to Luke, then, stumbling through his lessons with the troll—who was mildly amusing, if very annoying—and then, later, with Ben’s ghost.

He watched as Luke _kissed his sister,_ and oh, Ben was going to _regret_ not telling him the truth about who she was when he found out about _that._

Jango watched as Luke lost an arm to his father. He watched the boy deny the truth, and then come to accept it.

He watched Skywalker make the right choice for _once_ in his life, and then they were watching over both Luke and Leia as they celebrated their final victory.

It was over, and Jango smiled, and—

Then he was alone, in the dark. There was just… nothing.

Was this what the rest of eternity was like? Sure, the story had ended well, but not for him. Not for his people. This really _must be_ Hel, he decided, showing him all of that and then leaving him alone like this to dwell on his failures.

 _Fuck,_ but he would’ve done so many things differently, if he had the chance.

_Such as?_

Jango frowned at the voice. What _wouldn’t_ he have done differently? The attack on the farmstead that killed his first _aliit._ Korda 6. _Galidraan._

And… even if he couldn’t change any of _that,_ he should never have allied himself with the Sith. He never should have agreed to be cloned, even though the thought of not having his sons _hurt,_ but… But he couldn’t conscience it.

_And?_

...and Jango actually _regretted_ the deaths of the _Jetiise._

_Why?_

They could have stopped what happened to Mandalore, if there had still been an Order. They would have stood against the Sith, if they had known who he was. They would have fought for Mandalore.

 _Those are valid reasons, but they are not_ **_the_ ** _reason. We can see into your heart. Be honest with yourself._

Because…

He had seen the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes, when they died. He had seen how many long years it had taken Obi-Wan to pick up the pieces of his shattered psyche. He had watched Obi-Wan recite _Mando’a remembrances_ every night for _years_ for all of the _vod’e_ he could remember names for, and for all of the _Jetiise_ he could feel missing.

Because… somewhere along the line, after _Kenobi_ had become _Obi-Wan,_ Jango had… started to feel something for him.

And the _Jetiise_ were Obi-Wan’s _aliit._ Jango was _Mando’ad,_ and families were _important,_ and he couldn’t… Jango hated himself for being the one to have hurt Obi-Wan, his _aliit._

Because, somehow, Jango had gone from respect and grudging fondness to _love._

 _Yes._ **_Love._ ** _How long has it been since you knew anything of love?_

...Boba. He had loved Boba from the start, since he’d just been an idea, a demand made of Dooku before he’d agreed to the contract. But even that had been… selfish. He’d wanted a legacy, and though Jango had come to love his son as his own person, that was the real reason Jango had had him. The thought made him feel guilty.

Before that… well, Jaster, certainly. He had loved his _buir._ And… the _Haat Mando’ade._ Jango had thought that the part of him that was capable of love had been destroyed on Galidraan.

Apparently not.

 _You loved your people. The Jedi killed your people, and now you love one of them. To love your enemy is the ultimate form of forgiveness._ Whatever this was, this strange, genderless voice that was less a sound and more a direct transmission of thought into Jango’s head, sounded approving at that.

He scowled. He wouldn’t put it like that—

_This was a lesson. And a test._

Jango frowned. What was _that_ supposed to mean? A test for _what?_

_Will you remember this?_

How could he _forget?_ It might have ended well, but this had been _torture._ Sometimes _literally._

_Will you remember the lesson?_

Jango frowned. What _lesson?_

 **_Love._ ** _True, unconditional, selfless. And_ **_forgiveness._ **

Well, Jango did nothing by halves. He was passionate, as all with Manda in them were. Once he started loving, he didn’t think he _could_ stop. And forgiveness… did he forgive the _Jetiise?_ ...yes, and no. He didn’t _hate_ the ones who had been on Galidraan anymore (well, maybe Dooku, because he was _Dooku_ ) because they hadn’t had a choice. Not really. He still hated the Order, what it had become and forced the _Jetiise_ who were part of it to do, what it forced _them_ to become, but…

No, he didn’t hate them. And… Jango wasn’t sure _how_ to _forgive_ something like that, but… He didn’t _hate_ them for it. And he… he did regret that his actions had helped lead to the deaths of the _Jetiise._

_Then you have passed the test._

* * *

Jango woke up and immediately frowned. He recognized this room. This was his bedroom in the house he had shared with Jaster. But how…?

_Remember the lesson._

The voice hit him again, and Jango shook his head to clear it. What was happening now? Another life sequence, just starting earlier? Was he going to have to live through all of his again?

Jango heard footsteps, and then a soft knock on the door.

“Jan’ika? _Me'vaar ti gar?_ ”

Tears filled his eyes at the sound of _Jaster’s voice._ It was him, he hadn’t heard it in so long, but he would know it anywhere. It was really him.

Jango threw himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, clumsily palming the control. He stared at Jaster, who was giving him a curious, worried frown, and then he threw himself at his _buir,_ wrapping his arms around him, clinging to his armor. Jaster wrapped his arms around him in return, holding him tightly.

“ _Udesii, ad’ika._ It’s alright.”

No, it really, really _wasn’t._ None of that was _alright._

Jango realized he was shaking, and there were tears on his face. Jaster continued holding him firmly, murmuring soothing nonsense at him until he finally calmed. Jaster gave him a tight smile, his eyes radiating worry.

“Nightmares?” he asked softly. Jango shrugged jerkily. Jaster sighed and reached up to run a hand through his hair. “You scared the _osik_ out of me, Jan’ika.” He chuckled, his voice rough from crying. “You were late, missed roll call. You’re never late.”

Jango frowned. Roll call? They only went through roll call before deploying—

“I’m… Everything is a little… jumbled, right now,” Jango admitted slowly, frowning at Jaster, who frowned right back, _worry_ becoming _grave concern._ “Where are we headed?”

“Korda 6,” Jaster said slowly.

Jango’s heart leapt up into his throat.

_Remember the lesson._

“Right,” Jango said slowly, shaking his head to clear it again. “Sorry, _buir._ I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Jaster opened his mouth to protest, and Jango rolled his eyes. “ _Buir._ I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s a few days to Korda 6. I just need a night of _good_ sleep, which we’ll have more than enough time for while we’re in hyperspace.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “I trust you to know your limits, Jango.”

Jango managed a smile at that, but Jaster did not smile back, and Jango wondered what the expression had looked like. Finally, Jango turned away to begin strapping on his _beskar’gam,_ and Jaster finally left.

_Remember the lesson._

“I will,” Jango said softly, reaching out to trace a finger over the symbol of the _Haat Mando’ade,_ still painted proudly on his armor. “I’ll remember.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'll have to go back in and add a Mando'a key later! For now, I think most of it in this chapter should be able to be figured out from context :)
> 
> Update: HOLY CRAP, YOU GUYS! Thank you so much for all the reviews! :D I really would love to respond to everyone, but I don't want to artificially inflate my comment count for anyone who actually looks at the stats, and make them think the story has more response than it actually does. But I've read every single one, and THANK YOU SO MUCH! I can't believe the response the story's gotten so far. It puts a big smile on my face!
> 
> On another note, I did update the tag from "One-Sided Attraction" to "One-Sided Relationship," since that better describes what's actually going on here. There will definitely eventually be a Jango/Obi-Wan relationship (that they both, y'know, realize is happening. Eventually). But for now, Jango is definitely the only one who's really aware of what's going to be happening here. He's got plans for our Obi.

Tatooine, Qui-Gon decided, was far from his favorite planet. It was far too hot, and dry, and there was so little of the Living Force besides the riotous feelings of sentients _.  _ It gave him a headache—or perhaps that was a bit of dehydration beginning to set in. They  _ had  _ been walking around town for quite some time, unable to find the hyperdrive that they needed. Qui-Gon was unsurprised, given that Nubian parts were rare outside of the immediate sphere of the planet, but he must have faith that the Force would provide a solution.

“I can’t believe all of these people were  _ slaves, _ ” Padme murmured sadly, looking around at the people milling about the market. They no longer carried the overwhelming sense of  _ desperation  _ and  _ despair  _ that all slaves had, but there were scars to be seen, both physically and in the Force. They had been open about their past, since it was only in recent years that they had been freed. A local uprising a few years ago, they had told them proudly, with only a little outside help.

“Slavery is an unfortunate fact of life, in some of the darker parts of the galaxy,” Qui-Gon murmured back, just as quietly. Padme frowned at that.

“The Republic’s anti-slavery laws—”

“The Republic does not exist on Tatooine,” Qui-Gon reminded her evenly. Padme’s mouth snapped shut, and Qui-Gon sighed at the glower that had replaced her sadness. “Come, this way.”

He led them through the market, and then through an alley, towards another parts shop that had been suggested to them; Qui-Gon stopped dead as he saw the people gathered on the other side of the building, in another small square.

“Go back the other way, slowly,” Qui-Gon instructed Padme.

“Wassa happenin’?” Binks asked—too loudly, and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as several of the beings he was studying turned towards them.

They were  _ Mandalorians,  _ and there were, perhaps, twenty of them. If they realized that he was a Jedi Master, this may not end well.

One of the Mandalorians—a man, Qui-Gon guessed, though it was difficult to tell when they wore full armor; his was gleaming silver, with a red, stylized mythosaur skill painted across his chest—was staring straight at Qui-Gon. Slowly, the man started forward, and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth; there was no avoiding this, then. He would only have to hope that they did not realize who he was—

That hope was dashed with the first words out of the man’s mouth. “Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall you, if we have met before,” Qui-Gon said slowly. He would certainly remember meeting a Mandalorian. The man hummed, barely picked up by his vocorder.

“We haven’t,” he said flatly. He turned to Padme, and Qui-Gon bristled, but he took no notice. “Ma Jira mentioned a few offworlders wandering around, asking after a hard-to-find hyperdrive replacement. I’m guessing that would be you three?”

Ma Jira? Qui-Gon frowned, wondering who that was. He needn’t have wondered, as an old woman with white hair, tanned, wrinkled skin, and simple clothes came forward, smiling. She patted the Mandalorian’s arm.

“Yes, yes. They are the ones in need of your help. No need to fret, now, my dears,” Ma Jira said, giving them a warm, gap-toothed smile. “This is a very kind young man. He will help you.”

“Will you?” Padme asked slowly, her tone and expression both seeming to war between hopeful and suspicious.

The Mandalorian turned back to Qui-Gon, tilting his head. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is with you?”

Qui-Gon stiffened—how did this man know his Padawan’s  _ name?  _ How did he know  _ Qui-Gon’s name?  _ Who, in the name of the Force,  _ was he? _

“Meesa knowin’ Obi-Wan! Heesa back on the ship—” Binks exclaimed. The Mandalorian turned to him, and Qui-Gon shot the Gungan a glare, and he cut himself off. “Uh, on second thought, no, meesa no thinkin’ I know him. No, not at all! Weesa never even met! My mistakin’.”

The Mandalorian snorted and then nodded slowly. “I will help you.”

“Thank you,” Padme breathed. Qui-Gon felt unease pooling in his stomach, a strangely charged sensation rippling through the Force around them.

_ Change is coming,  _ it whispered unhelpfully. Qui-Gon gritted his teeth.

He didn’t like this. He did not like it  _ at all. _

* * *

The Mandalorians, as it turned out, were apparently the “bit of outside help” that the Tatooine slaves had gotten during the uprising. They had given them training, and supplied them with weapons, and then helped to deactivate the transmitters before the uprising itself, though they agreed when the slaves requested to fight for themselves.

“It was their battle to fight. We respected that,” the Mandalorian had said. He and four other Mandalorians—two of them skilled mechanics, apparently—were walking back with them to the ship.

“Still, it is a kind and wonderful thing you did for these people,” Padme said. Qui-Gon could clearly feel the  _ awe  _ radiating from her, and he frowned. He would have to warn her, later, against letting her guard down; they may have no other option than to hope that the Mandalorians were sincere in their desire to help, but they  _ did  _ have a certain… reputation. They could not afford to be lulled into a false sense of security.

“Nice digs,” one of the Mandalorians, a woman, going off of her voice and smaller stature than the others, said as they entered the ship. “Which way to the engine room?”

Padme was about to answer when Obi-Wan’s voice called out, “Master, I certainly hope you’ve found what we need. I’m afraid there is simply no way to repair—oh. Hello there.” He paused in the doorway, blinking at the Mandalorians before bowing and raising an eyebrow at Qui-Gon, smiling faintly, though a wordless, curious question was pushed along the bond. “I see you’ve made several new friends, Master.”

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw, pushing back a stern warning for Obi-Wan to quiet himself, but the Mandalorian in silver was already stepping forward. Qui-Gon moved to stop him from approaching Obi-Wan, not in the  _ least bit  _ comfortable with the man’s interest in his Padawan, but to his surprise, the Mandalorian stopped a respectful distance away and slowly reached up to pull off his helmet.

“ _ Su cuy’gar, _ ” the man said. “Jango Fett.” Why did that name sound familiar?  _ Had  _ Qui-Gon met this man before? He rifled through his memories again, but came up frustratingly blank. The man had said they had not crossed paths before, but Qui-Gon wouldn’t put it past him to lie. Most sentients did, when it suited them, and he had no trouble believing that a Mandalorian would lie to a Jedi.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he introduced himself, nodding politely. The Mandalorian nodded.

“I know. You were telling us about the engines…?” he prompted. Obi-Wan blinked.

“Yes. The hyperdrive  _ and  _ the motivator are both a lost cause,” he said grimly.

“ _ Haar'chak, _ ” Fett sighed. He turned to look at the woman who’d spoken up when they entered the ship, and she shook her head.

“I doubt there’s any inventory on the planet, and this isn’t just a Nubian cruiser, it’s a J-type. Definitely not something we carry spare parts for,” the woman said with a shrug.

Fett nodded slowly. “Has the  _ Shereshoy  _ left yet?”

“No, they were delayed. Ma Jira warned us there’s a sandstorm coming in. They’ll be stuck overnight, just like the rest of us,” she answered. Fett hummed.

“We can split the squads, put them on the  _ Jai’galaar  _ and the  _ Bes’bev _ ,” he said slowly. He turned back to Obi-Wan. “How many are on the ship?”

Obi-Wan answered immediately, “Fourteen people and three droids.”

“The  _ Shereshoy  _ would have more than enough room for our squad and your party,” Fett said.

“Are you offering us passage to Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked, blinking at him. Qui-Gon sent him another reprimand down the bond, but Obi-Wan seemed oblivious to everything other than the Mandalorian, in that moment.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know of the situation on Naboo, then.”

“I do.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Thank you. Lady Naberrie, I would advise that we accept his generous offer.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Padme said, nodding. “Perhaps you would agree to present your offer to the Queen?”

“Alright,” Fett agreed easily.

“Ah, perhaps you would give my Master and I a moment to speak to her, before we show you in?” Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon felt the first bit of  _ relief  _ he’d been able to find throughout this whole ordeal, thankful that Obi-Wan was buying them a moment for Qui-Gon to ask what in the  _ Force  _ he thought he was doing.

“Fine.” Fett shrugged.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile. Fett nodded and waved a hand.

“We can wait here. Go warn Her Majesty, so she isn’t alarmed by  _ Mando’ade  _ on her ship.”

* * *

“What do you think you are doing, Padawan?” Qui-Gon hissed, tempted to tug on his Padawan braid. Obi-Wan frowned.

“Please, Master, not until the Queen can hear this as well,” he sighed. Qui-Gon frowned, but sensed a familiar stubborn determination welling up in Obi-Wan, and so he complied. For now.

“Your Majesty,” Qui-Gon greeted the Queen, he and Obi-Wan bowing in unison. “There has been a… development in our situation.”

“A Mandalorian has offered to take us to Coruscant,” Padme spoke up. The Queen’s eyes widened slightly, the only sign of her surprise.

“Indeed?”

“Your Majesty, I suggest that we accept the offer,” Obi-Wan said. She turned to him, waving a hand, silently asking for an explanation. “There are numerous reasons that I believe the offer to be genuine. The first is that the Mandalorian culture has been undergoing a shift in recent years. Now that their Clan Wars are over, they have turned their attentions back out to the rest of the galaxy, and have begun small, but impactful human rights campaigns in the Outer Rim. They clearly care for other peoples’ welfare.”

“The city here was full of former slaves,” Padme said quietly. The Queen gasped softly, and Padme nodded, looking sad. She smiled, then, but it was bittersweet. “Apparently, the Mandalorians helped them to free themselves, providing them training and weapons to fight back against their oppressors. It does speak well of their character.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” the Queen said before turning back to Obi-Wan. “You have other reasons as well?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I do, Your Majesty. The next may require a bit of context, however. I am uncertain how much you know of the Mandalorian Civil War that ended only a few years ago.”

“Very little, to be frank,” the Queen admitted easily.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Few in the galaxy concerned themselves with it. There were three factions: the New Mandalorians, the True Mandalorians—the faction to whom these Mandalorians belong—and the Death Watch. The New Mandalorians are pacifists, and are now peacefully coexisting with the True Mandalorians, the faction who won the war, and who are simply traditionalists. Death Watch were… terrorists, to put it mildly. They committed untold numbers of war crimes against their own people, before they were wiped out by the True Mandalorians, allowing the remaining two groups to end the war peacefully. There was a minor scandal, just after the Mandalorian Civil War ended, when it was revealed that the Trade Federation was partly responsible for funding Death Watch.”

The Queen sat up straighter at that, and Qui-Gon frowned. He did vaguely recall something about a Senator several years ago, before the blockade of Naboo had even been an idea, trying to raise the issue of something the Trade Federation had done in the Senate, only to be refused the floor because the incident had not been within Republic space. Though, to be fair, he only recalled that because prior to this mission, he had refreshed himself on the recent affairs of the Federation. Obi-Wan must have taken a far more detailed look, which was characteristic of his studious nature.

“I see,” the Queen said. “You believe that they have their own quarrel with the Trade Federation, and that would make them more likely to help us.”

“Just so,” Obi-Wan agreed, tipping his head. “There is one more reason I would urge you to accept. The man I spoke to introduced himself as Jango Fett. When the True Mandalorians ended the war, their leader, Jaster Mereel, became the  _ Mand’alor— _ the one true king of Mandalore.. Jango Fett is his adopted son, and widely considered the defacto choice for Mereel’s successor. I highly doubt he would offer his name, as his identity is easily verifiable, and then double-cross us. Any poor conduct on his part would reflect on Mandalore itself, and this does not seem like a situation they would risk going to war with the Republic over.”

“Indeed not,” the Queen agreed slowly, thoughtfully. She looked to Padme, who twitched her fingers, and then the Queen smiled. “Thank you for your counsel, Master Jedi. Master Jinn, what do you think?”

Qui-Gon frowned, uncertain why he still felt uneasy when Obi-Wan’s logic had been sound. He tipped his head, deciding to answer honestly. “I admit to feeling some unease, Your Majesty, though I would have to meditate further on the matter to determine the source of the feeling. It may be a warning regarding the Mandalorians, or it may be later, something else about your situation. But his logic is sound, and I do feel we have few other options available to us.”

The Queen nodded slowly. “Then we will accept their gracious offer, if you would please show him in.”

* * *

Qui-Gon desperately wanted to meditate, but could not bring himself to do so while the sandstorm had trapped them in the ship with  _ Mandalorians.  _ With the slightest bit of  _ dread,  _ Qui-Gon realized that they were about to spend an entire  _ week  _ stuck on a ship with Mandalorians. He sighed and let the feeling go into the Force, returning his attention to those around him.

Padme’s fascination with the Mandalorians did not let up. The Mandalorian woman—young, likely Obi-Wan’s age, also with red hair, though her eyes were bright green—in their group had allowed the handmaidens to crowd around her, answering their many and varied questions with good humor.

Two of the others, a Twi’lek man and another human male, were speaking to the pilots and several of the guards.

Fett, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon clenched his jaw as he watched Obi-Wan laugh at something Fett had said, the Mandalorian smiling, obviously pleased with himself.

Qui-Gon did not like this  _ at all. _

He strode over to them, putting his hands in the sleeves of his robes, and raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan pointedly. Obi-Wan’s smile began to fade into confused wariness as Qui-Gon stood over him.

“Can I help you?” Fett asked dryly.

“No, thank you,” Qui-Gon said, barely managing not to snap at the man, not looking away from Obi-Wan. “I simply need a word with my Padawan.”

Fett shrugged. “Fine.” He looked to Obi-Wan, who tore his gaze away from Qui-Gon’s to look back at him. “Don’t forget what I told you.”

Obi-Wan grinned again, looking like he wanted to chuckle, but was trying to restrain himself. “I won’t.”

Fett nodded and walked away, heading for the red-haired woman, and Qui-Gon glowered at Obi-Wan, who frowned at him. Qui-Gon turned on his heel and strode off towards the quarters they had been assigned, Obi-Wan dutifully following behind him. Once they were in the privacy of their room, Qui-Gon gestured for Obi-Wan to sit. He sat down slowly on the lower bunk, tilting his head in silent question.

“Mind yourself around him, Padawan. He is… dangerous,” Qui-Gon began. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“Believe me, Master, I know,” he said dryly. “He is a  _ Mandalorian. _ ”

“It is not simply that, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed, his anger dissipating, overtaken by concern. He shook his head. “Fett knew us. He knew my name before I could give it, and specifically asked if you were here as well.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “That is… odd, I admit. But I don’t sense that he is any danger to me. Quite the opposite, actually. He seemed very sincere in his desire to help us.”

Qui-Gon frowned. Even with Fett’s helmet off, he hadn’t been able to sense much from the man; but then, he had not been standing nearly as close as Obi-Wan had. The frown became a scowl as he recalled the almost  _ flirtatious  _ way Fett had leaned so casually into Obi-Wan’s personal space.

“My senses tell me that he should not be trusted,” Qui-Gon said flatly. “Perhaps he will prove himself, in time, but for now, you will heed my warning.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips for a moment, now-familiar defiance glittering in his eyes, and Qui-Gon steeled himself for a fight. Obi-Wan then sighed, and shrugged. “Yes, Master. I will be mindful during my interactions with him.” Qui-Gon glared at him, and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to be stuck on a ship with him for a week, Master. There will be no way to avoid him entirely.”

It was Qui-Gon’s turn to sigh, then. He shook his head. “You are right, unfortunately. But please, humor your old Master.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes lit up, and Qui-Gon immediately realized he had said the wrong thing. “You do realize I’m going to tell Master Windu you said that as soon as we reach the Temple, don’t you?”

Qui-Gon just shook his head. “You are very impertinent, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s reply was a cheeky, “Yes, Master.”

* * *

Obi-Wan, unfortunately, had been correct: Fett made himself  _ impossible  _ to avoid on the trip to Coruscant. Wherever Obi-Wan went aboard the ship—the training area, the galley, the cockpit—Fett soon seemed to follow. And, since Qui-Gon could not be rude to their host, and felt a rather pressing need to be  _ diplomatic,  _ seeing as Fett was the Crown Prince of Mandalore (though Obi-Wan had rolled his eyes at that description and launched into a long-winded explanation of Mandalore’s government that Qui-Gon did not, in fact, listen to), he could do  _ nothing  _ about it.

Well, he could do nothing to  _ stop  _ Fett from seeking out Obi-Wan. What Qui-Gon  _ could  _ do was to attach himself to his apprentice, refusing to let Obi-Wan out of his sight.

It seemed to amuse Obi-Wan, how paranoid Qui-Gon was behaving about Fett, but he did not try to force him away. Neither did Fett, and though he was polite to Qui-Gon, he could sense that the Mandalorian was frustrated by his presence. Still, Fett did not try to separate them, and so Qui-Gon left it alone, for the moment.

It was also troubling to Qui-Gon that he honestly thought that had he  _ not  _ been present, it would not have changed Obi-Wan and Fett’s conversations in the slightest. They spoke mostly about Mandalore, and some about the Jedi, about whom Fett was surprisingly well-informed. When Qui-Gon mentioned as much, Fett laughed, a certain  _ gleam  _ in his eyes that made Qui-Gon tense slightly.

“We have a long history with the  _ Jetiise.  _ We would be neglecting our  _ own  _ history if we knew nothing about you,” he answered with a shrug that was far too casual for the implications of what he had said. His nonchalant statement was clearly a reference to the wars that had pitted the Order against Mandalore.

“I quite agree,” Obi-Wan said, nodding at Fett with a bright smile on his face. “And I’m certain we’re all happy to take this opportunity to learn more about each other first-hand. Aren’t we, Master?”

Qui-Gon forced a diplomatic smile onto his own face, but he knew from Fett’s raised eyebrow and slight smirk that he could tell Qui-Gon was still uncomfortable. “Of course.”

Thankfully, Qui-Gon was rescued from that particular line of conversation as one of the other Mandalorians stomped over to the table they were seated at, slamming his hands down on the table, T-visor pointed straight at Qui-Gon.

“Control that karking menace Binks or I will shove the  _ di’kut  _ out the airlock.”

“Myles,” Fett sighed, looking somewhat disappointed.

“What has he done this time?” Qui-Gon asked wearily.

“He nearly set off the cannons,” the Mandalorian, Myles, said stiffly. “Because he  _ tripped.  _ Over his own feet.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said, though he did not move. Myles tilted his head, and then slowly stepped back, shrugging.

“Right, then. Airlock it is—”

“No,” Qui-Gon sighed, glancing at Obi-Wan, and then at Fett, who was giving him a toothy grin. Obi-Wan shrugged one shoulder. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, but stood. “I will speak to him, and ensure that he knows which areas of the ship are off-limits to him. If you would take me to him…?”

“This way,” Myles said, jerking his helmeted head off to one side and stalking off, clearly expecting Qui-Gon to follow. He paused to give Obi-Wan a stern  _ look,  _ and then shot one last warning glare at Fett before following Myles.

* * *

The night before they reached Coruscant, Qui-Gon woke suddenly, frowning as he wondered what had roused him. It was quiet and dark in the bunk he had been given to share with Obi-Wan—

Who wasn’t there. That must have been what had woken him.

Sighing, Qui-Gon rose and pulled on his boots, forgoing his cloak, for the moment, and went to find his apprentice. Obi-Wan was frustratingly carefully shielded in the Force, likely in an effort not to wake him when he left. He checked the training room first, knowing that Obi-Wan tended to practice his katas when he was too restless to sleep, but he was not there. Qui-Gon went to the galley next, but Obi-Wan was not there either.

Frowning, Qui-Gon headed for the engine room, the only other place he thought he might be, but stopped as he finally saw him.

Obi-Wan was sitting on the floor of one of the hallways, staring out the viewport at the light of hyperspace streaking by him. And beside him was Fett, which made Qui-Gon scowl, but he quickly tucked himself into a doorway, hiding in the shadows, to listen to what they were saying.

“—told Jinn what you saw?”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “No. No, I already know what he would say. ‘Be mindful of the present, Padawan. Keep your focus on the here and now.’” His imitation of Qui-Gon was… surprisingly good—although perhaps not that surprising, given that they had spent the better part of a decade at each other’s sides—although Qui-Gon would never admit it to him.

His stomach sank as he immediately caught on to what they were talking about: Obi-Wan must have had another vision. He had hoped that he had simply outgrown them, though he was still prone to vague, unhelpful “bad feelings,” but Qui-Gon was now forced to consider that Obi-Wan had simply stopped telling him about them.

He did not like that thought.

“It’s clearly unsettling you,” Fett murmured. “Otherwise, you’d be asleep, like a sane person.” Obi-Wan turned to look up at Fett, tilting his head in silent question. Fett shrugged, a grin on his face. “Never said I was sane either.” Slowly, Fett lowered himself down to sit beside Obi-Wan, joining him in staring out the viewport. “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, Obi-Wan said nothing, and Qui-Gon almost hoped that he  _ wouldn’t,  _ and not only because he did not trust the Mandalorians. Some petty, vicious part of himself rankled at the idea of Obi-Wan telling Fett something he was unwilling to tell his own Master.

“I started having visions very young,” Obi-Wan finally said. “They were… disturbing. I would see the Temple on fire, and I  _ knew  _ that the Jedi were… That I was one of the last of us.”

Fett sucked in a breath, and Qui-Gon frowned at that. He had known, of course, that Obi-Wan had been troubled by visions in the creche—that had been in his file. But Obi-Wan had never before spoken of them to anyone but Master Yoda, so far as Qui-Gon was aware.

What made Fett different?

“The visions grew more sporadic, over time, but also more accurate, and far less vague,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I knew that the Stark Hyperspace War was going to happen before it did, and that Master Tyyyvokka was going to be killed on his final mission.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Fett asked evenly, voice pitched low. He didn’t look at Obi-Wan, still staring straight ahead out the viewport.

Obi-Wan chuckled wryly. “Of course I did. ‘Whatever happens is the Will of the Force,’ and ‘a  _ possible  _ future, you have seen. Worry yourself with possibilities, you should not. Focus on the present _ ,  _ you must.’ That was their advice.”

They fell silent for a long moment, and Qui-Gon almost left his hiding place when Fett spoke again. “I’m listening, now. If you’ll tell me.”

Qui-Gon held his breath, waiting for Obi-Wan’s answer. Obi-Wan sighed again and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall.

“It was a warning, of some sort. About Naboo,” Obi-Wan sighed. “What I Saw… I’m certain it can’t be taken literally.”

“Why? What was it?”

“There was an assassin, after the Queen,” Obi-Wan murmured. “That much, I believe.”

“What else?” Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched.  _ Why  _ did Fett care so much?

“I… We were there, on Naboo,” Obi-Wan said slowly, his brow furrowing. “We had returned to help the Queen fight—the petition must have failed. The assassin was there. He was…” Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and looked at Fett. He murmured something too low for Qui-Gon to hear. Fett and Obi-Wan stared at each other for a moment, and then Obi-Wan turned back to the viewport, Fett echoing the motion.

“We won’t let that happen,” Fett said firmly. “The Queen’s petition will not fail.”

“You have a great deal of confidence in the Senate,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Fett barked a laugh.

“I really don’t,” he retorted. “But even they won’t be able to deny what the Trade Federation has done, once we provide the proof we have.”

“Proof?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to him again. Fett hummed. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ We sent the  _ Bes’bev  _ on a small detour, before their jump to Christophsis. It was a stealth mission, and a long shot, so we didn’t want to say anything to the Queen, yet. But I got confirmation an hour or so ago—that’s the real reason I’m awake now. They managed to land on Naboo long enough to get holos of the camps, and the droids. We’ll get the transmissions not long after we land on Coruscant.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathed. “That is… well, that’s a relief. Thank you, Jango.” Qui-Gon frowned at that— _ Jango?  _ Since when was he  _ Jango? _

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Fett replied. “You really should sleep.”

“So should you,” Obi-Wan shot back. Fett shrugged and crossed his legs at the ankle.

“Think I might be up for a while.”

“...that makes two of us.”

Qui-Gon sighed quietly as the two lapsed back into silence, staring out into space. He decided that Fett was no threat to Obi-Wan, not at the moment, and turned away.

From the sound of things, he had more than enough time for meditation before Obi-Wan retreated back to their bunk.

* * *

Obi-Wan did not return to their room at all, and Qui-Gon did not see him until an hour before they were to land, in the galley. He was nursing a cup of caff, dark smudges under both eyes, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“A bit.”

“...is something the matter?” Qui-Gon asked, somehow keeping his voice neutral, if lightly curious. Obi-Wan frowned into his caff, shrugging one shoulder.

“Just… a feeling.”

“A bad one?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then he looked up, giving Qui-Gon a crooked smile. “But I  _ am  _ doing my best to focus on the here and now, Master.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched in a smile, though a wave of sorrow hit him. He had his answer, then: Obi-Wan would not trust him with that vision. Perhaps he should ask Yoda to speak to him, once they were back in the Temple.

“I’m certain you are,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“ _ Jetiise!  _ We need one of you up in the cockpit,” the red-haired woman Qui-Gon had come to learn was called Bo-Katan called to them. “Access codes and all. I’d hate for them to shoot at us.”

“...of course,” Qui-Gon said slowly. He gave Obi-Wan a smile and rose to follow her.

Once he was out of Obi-Wan’s view, he sighed. What was he to  _ do  _ with his apprentice?

* * *

They were met by Finis, Senator Palpatine, Yoda, and Mace. Qui-Gon found himself grateful for the small welcoming committee; he knew he would not have enjoyed the curious  _ looks  _ anyone else would have levelled at the Mandalorians, standing just behind them all on the ramp to the ship. Most of them had donned their full armor for this, muffling them in the Force once again.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan paused to bow to the Chancellor before moving off to stand beside Yoda and Mace; the Queen approached next.

“It is a great gift to see you alive, Your Majesty,” Senator Palpatine said, his smile relieved and his eyes bright. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched in a smile of his own; Senator Palpatine seemed to be a good enough sort, and Finis—a friend of Qui-Gon’s in his own right—seemed to have taken a special interest in the man, and Qui-Gon did consider him a good judge of character. “With the communications breakdown, we’ve been very concerned. I’m anxious to hear your report on the situation. May I present Supreme Chancellor Valorum?”

“Welcome, Your Highness. It is an honor to finally meet you in person,” Finis said, and Qui-Gon did smile then as he felt the tendrils of sheer  _ relief  _ Finis was radiating in the Force.

“Thank you, Supreme Chancellor,” the Queen said gravely. Finis nodded, and then his gaze flicked to the Mandalorians behind them.

“May I inquire about your escort?” he asked.

“Our ship’s hyperdrive was damaged, escaping the blockade. We landed on Tatooine, but could find no replacement parts,” Qui-Gon spoke up to explain.

“These Mandalorians were quite kind, and provided us safe passage here,” the Queen said. Padme turned slightly to flash a smile at the Mandalorians.

“Well now, that is quite a story,” Senator Palpatine said slowly. He spoke up louder then, calling out to the Mandalorians, “It would seem Naboo owes you a debt of gratitude. Would you introduce yourselves, so we may know who to thank?”

Slowly, Fett descended the ramp, Myles on one side of him and Bo-Katan on the other. The handmaidens parted for them, and one of the girls—Eirtee, Qui-Gon thought—grinned widely at Bo-Katan as she passed; the woman nodded back, exaggerating the motion to make it more noticeable with her helmet on. Fett stopped several feet away from the Senator and the Chancellor, tilting his head as he looked at them.

“We are the  _ Haat Mando’ade, _ ” Fett said simply, and then reached up to tap the mythosaur on his chest with two fingers.

“The people of Naboo thank you,” Senator Palpatine said, smiling widely at them and bowing his head.

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Fett answered. At the Senator’s blank look, he added, “There’s no debt.”

“Mandalorians have not visited Coruscant in any official capacity for centuries,” Finis said slowly. “Perhaps you would be willing to meet with me, before you depart?”

Fett paused, and then nodded slowly. “We’ll be here for a few days. We can find time.”

“Excellent,” Finis said, nodding. “Thank you. Please, feel free to remain docked here on the Senate platforms. Now, if you will excuse us, I would very much like to hear more about the situation on Naboo.”

“This way, Your Majesty,” Senator Palpatine said, guiding the Queen away. The handmaidens, Captain Panaka, and Binks all followed, soon leaving the Mandalorians and the Jedi alone on the landing platform.

Fett turned to them slowly, Mace eyeing him with clear interest, and Yoda hummed, his ears pricking up. He tapped his stick on the ground.

“ _ Olaram at Coruscanta, Haat Mando’ade, _ ” Yoda said. Qui-Gon blinked in surprise—he had had no idea that Yoda spoke their language. Fett bowed his head.

“ _ Vor entye, Jetii’Alor. _ ”

“ _ N’entye, _ ” Yoda returned, and then he tilted his head before striking Obi-Wan’s shin with his gimmer stick. Sighing, Obi-Wan went to one knee, allowing Yoda to climb onto his back. Myles let out a little choked laugh, and Fett snorted. Obi-Wan shrugged his unoccupied shoulder as he stood, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation. “Correct, the Chancellor was. Long it has been since Mandalorians have spoken to the Senate. Longer still since Mandalorians have spoken to Jedi, hmm? Perhaps with us, you would also agree to meet?”

Fett hesitated, and then nodded slowly. “We aren’t going to the  _ Jetii’yaim,  _ but we will meet with you on our ship, if you will come.”

“Yes, yes,” Yoda agreed, his ears twitching again, his eyes wide with excitement. Mace’s expression turned pinched, and Qui-Gon frowned; he knew that look meant Shatterpoints were looming around his friend’s vision again. “Thank you.”

Fett nodded sharply, gave Obi-Wan one last—lingering nearly to the point of impropriety, which made Qui-Gon grind his teeth _ —look, _ and then turned back to the ship, Bo-Katan and Myles following behind him, leaving the Jedi alone.

“Why is it always  _ your  _ missions, Qui-Gon?” Mace grumbled softly. Qui-Gon sighed.

“It was hardly my intention to deal with Mandalorians,” he said slowly. “No, I’m afraid trouble found me this time.”

“An interesting report, this will be,” Yoda said, still smiling gleefully. He looked centuries younger like that, and Qui-Gon couldn’t help but smile a bit himself at his Grandmaster’s enthusiasm, despite his own irritations. “To the Council, we must go now.”

* * *

“...the Queen chose to accept the Mandalorians’ offer, on my Padawan’s recommendation,” Qui-Gon said. He felt a burst of  _ anxiety  _ through their bond before it was quickly released to the Force; he stifled a sigh. Obi-Wan never really felt comfortable reporting to the Council, likely because those first few times had been under… unpleasant circumstances, and set a precedent of  _ tension  _ and scrutiny. Between Bandomeer, Melida/Daan, and the Stark Hyperspace War… No, Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship had not been an easy one, and his reports to the Council rarely any easier to recount.

“Explain, Padawan,” Yoda said, waving a hand. Obi-Wan nodded.

“There were a few reasons I believed them to be sincere in their desire to help the Naboo,” he said, his voice steady and calm, seemingly serene. Qui-Gon still knew how much he dreaded speaking before groups this way, and he fought down a smile. “Mandalore has, since the end of the Civil War, been going in a more… humanitarian direction. They seem to have declared a war against slavery, assisting slave uprisings wherever they can; they helped to free the people of Tatooine three years ago, and apparently were on one of their annual visits. They return periodically to ensure that slavery does not reestablish itself.”

The Councilors nodded slowly. “Yes, we knew of their help on Tatooine,” Plo said. “An Initiate was brought to us after the uprising; he and his mother were freed then, and she brought him straight to the Temple. And the other reasons?”

“The  _ Haat Mando’ade— _ the faction led by the current  _ Mand’alor— _ declared the Trade Federation their enemies, after evidence surfaced that they had funded  _ Kyr’tsad— _ the Death Watch, a terrorist group who made up the third faction in the Civil War,” Obi-Wan said. “And they very much believe in the principle ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”

Several of the Councilors chuckled at that, and Qui-Gon’s own lips twitched. Obi-Wan continued without prompting, this time, “And the last reason is that the leader of the Mandalorians on Tatooine—the man you spoke to, Master Yoda—is Jango Fett. I reasoned that with his position, his actions would reflect on Mandalore in an official, diplomatic capacity.” Obi-Wan paused, and then added, “The Force also seemed to agree with the idea.”

“Your logic was sound,” Mace acknowledged, just as Qui-Gon had assured the Queen. “And you fulfilled your mission mandate, delivering the Queen safely to Coruscant. Well done.” Obi-Wan smiled and bowed his head. “Do you have anything else to report?”

Qui-Gon waited a moment, hoping Obi-Wan would speak of his vision, but he simply looked to Qui-Gon. “Yes, Masters. When I said that Fett knew me on sight, I did not only mean that he placed me as a Jedi. He knew my name, and asked if Obi-Wan was with me.”

“That is… odd,” Ki-Adi Mundi hummed. “Neither of you had ever met him before?”

“No, we had not,” Qui-Gon said. “Neither of us had ever met a Mandalorian before at all.” Obi-Wan shifted slightly beside him, and Qui-Gon frowned and turned to him. “Or so I had believed. Padawan?”

“I had never met Jango Fett before, or any of the others with him,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “But I have met a Mandalorian before—briefly. He was stranded on Melidaan, during the war. He helped us, during the final few weeks of the fighting before Master Jinn arrived, in exchange for the parts he needed to repair his ship. I never spoke to him much, and I certainly never mentioned Master Jinn. But I can’t say what the others might have told him.”

“Why did you not tell us this when you returned?” Shaak Ti asked gently.

“That was another of his conditions for helping us,” Obi-Wan said. “He asked that we tell no one that he had been there. It seemed relatively harmless, at the time, to omit those details.”

“Do you know his name?” Mace asked slowly.

“No, Masters. He told us that he was  _ Ru’Resol’nar’ad— _ a follower of the Traditional  _ Resol’nare.  _ They do not give their names or show their faces to anyone outside of their immediate family, or close friends,” Obi-Wan explained. “We never even saw him without his full  _ beskar’gam. _ ”

“So this Mandalorian told Fett about you,” Mace surmised flatly.

“He did not explain how he knew us,” Obi-Wan said. “But that does seem like the most likely explanation.”

“Ask him, we may,” Yoda said dismissively. “Agree to meet with us, he has.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, a smile playing on his lips. “Sent the request, he already has. Tomorrow, he wishes to meet. Invite you both—Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi—he has. Join us, you will.”

Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched at the thought of spending any more time with the Mandalorians, but he recognized the significance of the Prince of Mandalore agreeing to meet with the High Council of the Order, and so he merely bowed, Obi-Wan following his example.

“For mid-meal, we will meet them,” Yoda said. “Now go. Tomorrow, we will see you.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

* * *

Qui-Gon did acknowledge—if only grudgingly—that inviting the Council to midmeal on their ship was a sound diplomatic decision. It was an olive branch—they could not eat with their helmets on, after all, so they would all have to show their faces, and midmeal was informal—this would hardly be a state dinner.

Still, he found himself feeling uneasy. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed… excited. He had been humming softly to himself all morning, and had not even complained once about tending to the plants that were scattered throughout their quarters, a chore he usually moaned over, if only out of long-standing habit.

They were promptly on time to meet the Council members who would be joining them in the hangar. Along with Yoda and Mace, Shaak Ti and Adi Gallia had been chosen to attend as well. It was a good showing of the Order’s diversity, something Qui-Gon knew Mandalorians also valued. And there was no sexism among them, either, so to show up with a party comprised solely of men would not have gone over well, Qui-Gon did not think.

Yoda and Obi-Wan seemed to gravitate to each other, Yoda perching himself on Obi-Wan’s shoulder again for the speeder trip to the Senate landing pads, the two of them immersed in quiet conversation.

“You seem tense,” Mace commented, having taken the seat beside him. Qui-Gon sighed.

“I don’t trust them,” Qui-Gon admitted. Mace snorted.

“Of course you don’t,” he said flatly. “They’re  _ Mandalorians. _ They may be genuine in wanting better relations with the rest of the galaxy, but that remains to be seen. I can’t say I blame you for being on guard.”

“There is more to it than that,” Qui-Gon said, glancing at Obi-Wan to ensure Yoda still occupied his attention before turning back to Mace. “Fett took a rather…  _ personal  _ interest in Obi-Wan.”

Mace frowned, and then nodded slowly. “That’s another point in favor of the Mandalorian who was on Melidaan telling Fett about him. They’re known for prizing fighting ability.”

Qui-Gon did not wince at the reminder that his Padawan had become one of the Generals of an army of child soldiers when he himself had still been only thirteen, but it was a near thing. Mace sighed—Qui-Gon knew that his friend was well aware of the lasting scars that time had left on both him and his apprentice.

“One lunch,” Mace said. “One lunch, and then you won’t have to deal with them again.”

“I pray to the Force that you are right.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Qui-Gon,” Shaak Ti said, amusement clear in her voice as she glanced back at him from the front seat. “If you relax, you may just make a new friend.”

Qui-Gon frowned at that, and Shaak trilled a laugh as she turned away from him. No, Qui-Gon most certainly did not want to be  _ friends  _ with these Mandalorians.

Still, he would be  _ polite.  _ He could manage to be diplomatic for an hour with those he did not like—Qui-Gon would never have survived his long career with the Jedi had he not long ago mastered that particular skill.

* * *

The Mandalorians greeted them formally, and they went through a brief round of introductions, and then all formality seemed to be tossed aside as they entered the galley.

“ _ Tihaar,  _ or  _ netra’gal? _ ” Bo-Katan asked them.

“ _ Tihaar, vor’e, _ ” Yoda answered for them. Qui-Gon, frankly, did not know what they had just been offered, but Bo-Katan seemed pleased by his choice and barked out an order. Several of the Mandalorians disappeared into the kitchen proper, returning quickly with drinks for them. It looked nearly clear, and had a strong scent of fruit and was clearly highly alcoholic.

Fett waved a hand for them to find seats, and Shaak and Adi immediately went to mingle with the rest of the Mandalorians while Mace remained with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Fett. Myles slid into the booth beside Fett, nodding at them.

Yoda and Obi-Wan drank, and then Fett and Myles, and then they all looked expectantly at Qui-Gon and Mace, who slowly drank. Qui-Gon had been correct: this was definitely  _ highly  _ alcoholic. He would have to ensure he filtered as much of it as he could.

“To Coruscant, have you come before?” Yoda asked. Fett grinned, a toothy expression that made Qui-Gon tense, and he shrugged.

“Not officially.” Yoda cackled at that, and Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a smile. “We’ve visited Little Keldabe a few times before.”

Little Keldabe was not an area of Coruscant Qui-Gon knew well—frankly, it was a district of Coruscant that  _ no  _ Jedi knew well. They were not overly welcome in the space Mandalorians who decided to make their homes in the Core had turned into a cultural replica of their home system. But they had, at least, a sort of… unspoken truce, those Mandalorians and the Jedi. The Mandalorians did not take bounties on Coruscant that were not officially posted by Judicial or the Senate itself, and in exchange for causing no trouble, Judicial and the Order stayed out of their space, allowing them to police themselves.

“Mm, long it has been since visited Corucant’s  _ Mando’ade,  _ I have,” Yoda hummed.

“How long?” Myles asked, a strange look on his face. Yoda waved a hand dismissively.

“Visiting, the  _ Mand’alor  _ was. Ren Vizsla— _ Mand’alor,  _ he was then. Met unofficially, we did. Drank much  _ tihaar,  _ we did.”

“Ren Vizsla?” Myles repeated, looking somewhat incredulous. Fett only smirked and nodded. “That was… two hundred years ago.”

“Mm, yes. A long time ago,” Yoda agreed, taking another sip of his drink.

“How old—” Fett shot Myles a warning look, but Yoda only cackled again.

“Eight hundred and forty three years, I have lived,” Yoda said, smiling at them. Myles stared at Yoda, his mouth dropping open, and then he slammed back the rest of his drink.

“Almost  _ eight hundred and fifty years old, _ ” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Is that a  _ Jetii  _ thing?”

“Oh, no,” Obi-Wan spoke up to assure them. “The Force does generally grant a longer lifespan to all who channel it, but there is as much variation among Jedi based on their species as any other group.”

“Not the longest-lived Jedi, am I,” Yoda added. “Take that burden, Master Fay does. But long has it been, since she has been back in the Temple; know her now, few Jedi do. Live through the Sith Wars, she did. Live still, she does.”

“... _ wayii, _ ” Myles said, his eyes wide. “That’s… impressive.”

Qui-Gon wondered when they would cease these pleasantries and ask the questions they had come with, and Obi-Wan sent an answer down the bond:  _ This is a truce meal. We can’t discuss any “business” until after we’ve all eaten.  _ He gritted his teeth at that answer.

A loud  _ thud  _ off to the side caught their attention, and they all turned to look. Obi-Wan immediately began laughing, as did Yoda, as they realized that Shaak and Adi had both been arm wrestling with the other Mandalorians, and the  _ thud  _ had been from a massive man’s armored arm hitting the table as Shaak pressed him down.

The man began laughing as well. “You sure you didn’t use your powers,  _ Jetii? _ ”

“Quite,” Shaak assured him. “Perhaps a rematch?”

The man nodded eagerly and they settled back into position. Qui-Gon began to wonder why they seemed to be at ease when he felt so… on edge. Was it truly only his prejudice against Fett, because of his obsession with Obi-Wan? Or was he correct, and there was something in the Force warning him about these Mandalorians?

“Food’s ready!” another voice called, and everyone stood. Bowls of spicy stew were passed out, and Myles frowned at the one he’d handed Qui-Gon before jerking it back and giving him a different one.

“That one has a little less spice to it,” he explained. Qui-Gon nodded his thanks and resettled himself at the table, finding that someone had refilled their glasses, and also set out a tall glass of milk at each place on the table.

They ate mostly in silence, apart from Yoda’s quiet noises of contentment, and finished quickly. Qui-Gon went through two glasses of milk, and found himself grateful that Myles had thought to give him this particular dish.

“ _ Vor’e.  _ Too long it has been since  _ tiingilar  _ I have had.” Fett nodded and then they all sat back, settling into more serious posture. The others fell quiet around them, waiting for the real dialogue to begin. “Questions, we have for you.” Fett nodded and waved a hand. “Know Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi, you did. How?”

Qui-Gon felt a swell of  _ tension  _ from the Mandalorians, and braced himself for the answer. Fett stared at them for a moment longer before reaching for his drink.

“After we managed to end the Civil War,  _ buir  _ was looking for something to unite Mandalore,” Fett began. “Looking at our own history, it’s obvious that the only time we’re ever truly united is when we’re facing an external threat. We wanted to give them a cause to fight for, something we could all agree on and stand behind, something that would bring both former  _ Kyr’tsad  _ and the New Mandalorians into the fold.”

“Your campaign against slavery,” Mace said slowly. Fett nodded, glancing at Obi-Wan before frowning and drinking more of his  _ tihaar. _

“It’s an honorable cause, and one that has our fighters seeing plenty of combat. We developed a procedure: help them free themselves, tear apart the databanks, and then get them where they need to be—home, if they have one, and the others, wherever they ask to be taken,” Fett explained. “For the first campaign… we started close to home, with Bandomeer.”

“Ah,” Mace said, sitting back. He, too, glanced at Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than look down at the drink in his hands.

“They kept meticulous records,” Fett continued. “So even though it was a few years after you’d come and gone—” Qui-Gon glanced up, frowning as he realized that Fett was speaking directly to Obi-Wan, now, who was steadily meeting his gaze. “—your name was still in their log. We looked into everyone on the list, whether or not they were still there. In many cases, it led us to other operations, since most only left the mines when they were sold on to someone else, or when they died. But you, we couldn’t find any other record of.” Fett tilted his head. “Until the  _ Ru’Resol’nar’ade  _ officially joined us, and we heard about Melidaan.” Fett shrugged then. “You were back where you were supposed to be, by that point, and so we left it alone.”

“I never told him about Master Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan pointed out, and Fett smirked, wickedness in his eyes.

“ _ You  _ didn’t, no. But your friend—Nield, wasn’t it?—was more than happy to rant about what had happened,” Fett said, and then he turned a raised eyebrow on Qui-Gon. “He hates you, you know.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t blame him, and he might have said so, but he found his mouth far too dry to speak, and so he simply sipped at his  _ tihaar,  _ trying to remain impassive. He and Obi-Wan had discussed Melidaan and Bandomeer at length, but he knew that both incidents had left deeper scars on both of them than others might realize—on Obi-Wan in particular. Thinking back to that time was sure to force Qui-Gon into a long meditation, later.

“Well, since you seem to know who this mysterious  _ Mando’ad  _ is who helped the Young, perhaps you can thank him for me,” Obi-Wan said cheerfully. “He never did give us the chance. Once he was assured the fighting had ended, and he’d gotten the parts he needed for his ship, he disappeared.”

Fett nodded his agreement easily. “ _ Elek.  _ He’s a good man, one of our  _ Al’verde  _ now. He’ll be pleased to hear you’re well.”

Obi-Wan smiled warmly and when Fett raised his glass, tipped his against Fett’s without hesitation before drinking. Myles eyed Mace critically and then downed the rest of his own  _ tihaar.  _ He raised an eyebrow at Mace, who tilted his head. Slowly, Myles put his arm out, elbow resting on the table, and he wiggled his fingers.

“How about it?”

Mace frowned, and then shrugged and put his arm out.

“None of that Force  _ osik,  _ mind,” Myles demanded. Mace nodded solemnly. Obi-Wan snorted softly and drank again.

* * *

The luncheon ended without much fuss, and without any  _ diplomatic incidents,  _ and Qui-Gon was grateful to be leaving them behind. He ground his teeth together and bit his tongue as he saw Fett inputting his comm frequency into Obi-Wan’s commlink; Obi-Wan was nearly a Knight, now. Qui-Gon did not like Fett—there was something about the man that screamed a  _ warning _ to him—but he would not stop Obi-Wan from speaking to him, if he wished. Not that he could have—Yoda was very blatantly encouraging them, and Qui-Gon wondered if he thought Obi-Wan might charm Fett right into an alliance with the Republic. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“ _ Rheturcye mhi, Ad be’Alor, _ ” Yoda said to Fett, nodding. Fett nodded back.

“ _ Rheturcye mhi, Jetii’alor. _ ”

It was quiet, on the trip back, most of them lost in thought, though Shaak and Adi were clearly tired—after the meal proper, they had sparred, hand-to-hand, with several of the Mandalorians. It had grated on Qui-Gon’s nerves, but they seemed unharmed, and in good spirits, if a bit worn out.

“Important, these Mandalorians will be,” Yoda declared, mostly to the window of the speeder he was looking out of. Qui-Gon frowned at that.

Important they may be, but Qui-Gon thought he could be forgiven for not wanting to see them again. The tension he’d been carrying for a week now was giving him quite the headache.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said updates would be sporadic, and I can definitely promise they won't all be this fast, LOL, but I definitely didn't expect the response this story is getting, and it motivated me to write some more for it! :D
> 
> Some of your questions will be answered in this chapter, and some new ones will be raised. Hope you like it!

Padme realized, of course, that Master Jinn didn’t much care for the Mandalorians, and disliked Jango Fett in particular, though she couldn’t understand why. He had been nothing but helpful and courteous towards them. She hated to think it, but Padme had begun to consider that it might be some sort of inherent prejudice, given the history between the Jedi Order and Mandalore. It did not paint a very flattering picture of Master Jinn.

But Naboo had never really had much contact with Mandalore. Even during the Mandalorian Expansion Wars, they had never made it as far as Naboo. They had no personal history between them, and so Padme had been able to approach them with a more open mind. And Obi-Wan, as he insisted she call him after she instructed him to call her Padme, liked them. He honestly seemed to admire Jango, and the two of them had had long, involved political discussions during the trip to Coruscant.

It was for that reason, in fact, that Padme had come to him. Jango looked surprised to see her, but allowed Padme into the _Shereshoy_ easily.

“Shig?” he offered.

“Yes, please.” He nodded and led her to the galley, the two of them walking in silence. As Jango returned with their drinks, sliding into the seat across from her, he waited for her to speak—no doubt waiting to hear what she needed.

“The Queen wonders if you might give us some advice,” Padme began. Jango tilted his head in silent question, and she sighed lightly. “We had a strategy meeting with Senator Palpatine yesterday, discussing how best to present our case to the Senate—and thank you for the evidence your people gathered for us. We can’t express how grateful we are.”

Jango nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Padme smiled, but it was brief, and tight. She looked down at her drink. “Senator Palpatine made a suggestion, but none of us are quite sure what to make of it.”

“What was it?” Jango prompted.

“If the Senate will not act, and Chancellor Valorum does not force them to, or at least openly speak for us, that the Queen call a Vote of No Confidence in him,” Padme said softly. “Senator Palpatine feels that Chancellor Valorum does not have enough power to sway the Senate, and that he is too compliant with the bureaucrats to be effective.”

Jango was silent for a long moment, taking a sip of his shig, and Padme appreciated that he did not give her an immediate answer, instead thinking over the quandary.

“Chancellor Valorum seems to be supporting you fairly openly already,” Jango finally said. “He requested the _Jetiise—_ ” Padme frowned, and Jango paused. “What?”

“Senator Palpatine said that he requested the Order’s help.”

Jango shook his head. “No, Obi-Wan told me that Chancellor Valorum is a personal friend of Jinn’s. It was a sort of favor to him, the _Jetiise_ sending him and Obi-Wan in particular.”

“I see,” Padme murmured, frowning. Why would he take credit? She knew many politicians would do so simply to try to gain favor, but she had thought better of Senator Palpatine.

“Chancellor Valorum,” Jango began again, getting them back on topic, “has openly supported you by sending the _Jetiise,_ and by forcing the Senate to schedule you to speak as quickly as they did.” Padme blinked in surprise at that. They were not due to present their case to the Senate for another two days. Jango’s lips twitched in a small grin. “During my meeting with Valorum, he asked if we would consider returning to Coruscant to speak to the Senate Trade Committee. The soonest he could schedule was three months from now.”

“Three _months?_ ” Padme repeated, eyes wide. Jango laughed and nodded.

“The Republic is not known for working quickly—at least not its politicians,” Jango said flatly. “That’s another issue with the Senator’s suggestion. A regime change takes time. There is always a transition period, and very little gets done during that time. And there is no guarantee that whoever _would_ be named Chancellor would be sympathetic to Naboo instead of the Federation. The Vote would be a massive gamble, and even if the new Chancellor favors Naboo, that will only help you later—it won’t solve your immediate problems. No new Chancellor could act as quickly as you would need them to.”

Padme frowned and sat back in her chair. “I don’t understand how Senator Palpatine couldn’t realize all of that.”

“I’m sure he did,” Jango said. “You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the Senate, but can a Senator call a Vote of No Confidence?”

“Yes,” Padme answered slowly. “Any Senator or sovereign of a Republic world may call for a Vote of No Confidence.”

“So if Palpatine thinks this is something that needs to be done, why would he suggest doing it himself?” Jango asked. Padme knew that tone—he was trying to lead her to a particular conclusion.

“Because… it would be more impactful if it came from the Queen,” Padme answered slowly, “and would therefore be more likely to succeed, and trigger an election.”

Jango nodded. “That’s one reason. But here’s another: the man who ousts the current figurehead from power rarely is elected in his place, in a democracy. That looks too much like a takeover for you all to stomach.”

Padme blinked at him. “You believe that Senator Palpatine is trying to get _himself_ elected as Chancellor Valorum’s replacement?”

“I do,” Jango said firmly. “And Valorum only has a little over a year left on his term, and this is his last. Since we all realize that there’s no way a new Chancellor could enact any change very quickly, I can’t see a reason why he wouldn’t just wait it out until the next election. It’s coming soon enough, after all. Sure, it might make a difference of a few months for Naboo, but by then it would be too late anyway. The damage would be done.”

Padme nodded slowly. “I don’t think any of us wanted to consider that Senator Palpatine might be…”

“Just another politician?” Jango suggested, and Padme actually laughed at that.

“Aren’t _you_ a politician?”

“...only in the most technical sense,” Jango answered, clearly amused by the suggestion.

“I thought that you were next in line for Mandalore’s throne?” Padme asked, tilting her head.

Jango shrugged. “It’s not an inherited title, but _buir—_ the current Mand’alor, my father—seems to think that I’m the obvious choice, and it seems our people tend to agree with him.”

“So would that _not_ make you a politician?” Padme asked teasingly. Jango raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, and no,” Jango said slowly. “People don’t always choose a _Mand’alor_ that they _like,_ but one that they respect. And once elected, you’re _Mand’alor_ until you choose to retire, someone Challenges your rule and kills you, taking the title in single combat, or your Council declares you’re no longer mentally or physically competent. There’s no need to trade favors and make people _like you_ to become, or to remain, _Mand’alor._ It’s unlike other political positions that way. Of course, you’re far less likely to be Challenged if people like you, but respect works just as well.”

“That’s…”

“Foreign?” Jango suggested, and Padme nodded. Jango nodded his understanding, and then sighed. “We’ve gotten away from the point. I would recommend that the Queen not call for the Vote, but it should be a moot point, with the evidence you have. Even if it doesn’t incriminate the Trade Federation enough for the courts to take legal action against them, it will be enough to convince the Senate to allow Judicial forces to help you. I wouldn’t be surprised if that causes the Federation to pull back—they’re cowards, and they probably chose your planet because it’s wealthy, but relatively undefended. If they know a real fight is coming their way, it wouldn’t surprise me if they pull out.”

Padme smiled. “That would be a relief. I can only hope that you are right, Jango.” Her smile faded. “I certainly don’t want to return to Naboo to fight. I’ve never wanted war for my people.”

“There will always be war as long as there is at least one party willing to harm other sentients for their own benefit—wars happen over money, over resources, over territory. People will fight over anything, given the right incentive,” Jango said, tone gentle. Padme still scowled, and Jango sighed. “You remind me of Satine Kryze. She’s a New Mandalorian—a pacifist. She was radical about it for a long time, until we began our campaigns against slavery. She saw that slavers aren’t the kind of people you can _negotiate_ with. Pretty words aren’t going to make them free their slaves.”

Padme nodded slowly, turning over the lesson in her mind. The Trade Federation was willing to harm her people for their own benefit.

What was she willing to do to stop them, now that negotiation had failed?

(“The negotiations never took place” _indeed._ That was a very understated way to say that the Federation attempted to _kill two Jedi_ on official Senate business. Master Jinn was many things, but never let it be said that he was hyperbolic.)

“Padme?”

She looked up, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. My thoughts ran away from me.”

“You’re worried that there will still be war,” Jango sighed. Padme nodded.

“I can’t see the Trade Federation putting so many resources behind the attack on my planet, and then leaving without even attempting to defend their operation,” Padme murmured. Jango hummed.

“That is a possibility. But even if war does come, it doesn’t last forever,” Jango told her. Padme frowned.

“That’s not very comforting, Jango.”

He smiled, but it was a twisted, rueful expression. “There comes a point when you’ve seen enough of war to last a lifetime, and you know there’s more to come,” he said softly. “At that point, it _is_ comforting.”

“I sincerely hope that I never reach that point,” Padme said honestly. Jango barked a laugh and raised his mug.

“I pray to the _ka’ra_ that you don’t.” But something in his tone said that he thought she would, and something about it felt almost _prophetic._ Padme felt a sudden chill sweep over her even as she smiled and tapped her own mug against Jango’s.

What would she be willing to do, to free Naboo? That was the real question here, wasn’t it?

* * *

The Senate was _enormous,_ and there were so many _people._ Padme was not normally a nervous public speaker—she never would have been elected if that had been the case—but she had also never given a speech with stakes this high before. She couldn’t be blamed for a bit of nerves, she reasoned.

Still, she slipped her hands into her sleeves the way the Jedi so often did, fingering the slim metal bracelet around her wrist. Bo-Katan had slipped it into her hand when they met in the Senate building that morning, whispering, “You’re as strong as _beskar._ ” That was what the bracelet was, Padme realized—it had the same silver gleam to it that the unpainted portions of Jango’s armor did.

 _I am as strong as_ beskar, she repeated to herself as their pod released from its dock, flying up to address the Senate. She listened with half an ear to Senator Palpatine’s introduction, waiting for her moment to speak, repeating the mantra to herself. _I am as strong as_ beskar.

“...oppression of the Trade Federation—”

“This is outrageous!” Padme gritted her teeth, unwilling to outwardly frown, as she heard the delegate from the Trade Federation protest. “I object to the Senator’s statements!”

“The Chair does _not_ recognize the Senator from the Trade Federation at this time,” Valorum quickly, firmly called out. Padme’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile at that. Even now, he was doing what he could to support them, and ease their way in this.

“To state our allegations, I present Queen Amidala, recently elected ruler of the Naboo, who speaks on our behalf,” he said.

Padme took a deep, slow breath as she stood and approached the pod’s podium.

“Honorable representatives of the Republic,” she began, grateful that her voice did not waver, “I come to you under the gravest of circumstances. Naboo’s system has been invaded by the droid armies of the Trade—” Padme fell silent as the Trade Federation’s Senator began to shout again.

“I object! There is no proof! We recommend—”

“Proof?” Padme repeated. “If you would care to see proof, I can certainly oblige.” She waved a hand at Senator Palpatine, who stood again behind her.

“If it pleases the Chair…?” he said. Chancellor Valorum nodded, and then held up a hand as the Senator from the Trade Federation began to protest again.

“They are entitled to attach any evidence they have to their claim; such is the law of the Senate,” he said flatly. It was a clear reprimand, and Padme smiled. Without further ado, or protests from the Trade Federation, Senator Palpatine hit the controls for the giant screens positioned around the Senate, high up on the walls.

Padme had, of course, seen the holos before, but they were still difficult to watch. Still, she refused to look away, staring intently at the screen as it showed the Trade Federation’s tanks in one of the fields outside of Theed, as it showed one of the camps (the camera zooming in on an obviously sickly, ashen-faced _child,_ and that always brought tears to her eyes), and then—this was Padme’s favorite part, and what she thought was the most damning—the Mandalorian filming fired up their jetpack, getting an aerial view of the droids lined up in their battalions in the field.

Once it ended, there was perfect silence for a moment, and Padme started to smile—

“That is not proof!” the Trade Federation’s Senator called. Padme frowned—how could they try to deny it? “That was obviously filmed by a _Mandalorian._ They are setting us up! We have had trouble with them, _outside_ of the Republic. This is obviously a ploy to weaken our standing in the Senate. I move that the evidence be verified for authenticity, and a committee be sent to Naboo to ascertain the _truth_ of the situation.”

“The Congress of Malastare agrees with the honorable delegate from the Trade Federation! A commission must be appointed!”

Padme’s stomach dropped—no. _No,_ they were so _close._ How could they deny what was right in front of their eyes?

“The point—” Chancellor Valorum began, but stopped as the Vice Chancellor leaned over to speak to him, too low to be picked up by their pod’s mics.

“Enter the bureaucrat,” Senator Palpatine murmured, and Padme nearly jumped—he was standing far closer to her than she’d realized, and it was jarring to hear his voice just beside her. “The true Rulers of the Republic. And on the payroll of the Trade Federation, I might add. This is where Chancellor Valorum’s strength will disappear.”

He stepped back again, and Padme took another deep, slow breath. She knew what he wanted her to do—he wanted her to call for the Vote of No Confidence. She almost thought it a good idea, something whispering at the back of her mind, telling her that if she could simply get someone who could _act_ in power, they would free Naboo, their troubles would be over—

But… Jango was right. That would not get her people the help they needed—not quickly enough, if it came at all.

“The point is conceded,” Chancellor Valorum sighed. “Will you defer your motion to allow a commission to explore the validity of your accusations?”

Padme frowned. “I will not defer. I have come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty _now._ I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee! If this body is not capable of action… Naboo must rely on ourselves. I move to declare this an internal matter of Naboo, to be resolved at our _sole_ discretion.”

“The Trade Federation agrees to settle these claims in negotiation,” the Senator said, smiling smugly at her. Padme smiled back, baring her teeth just a bit.

The negotiations would never take place. Padme would see to that.

* * *

“What will we do now, Your Majesty?” Senator Palpatine sighed. “Now that it has been declared an internal matter of Naboo, and we can expect no help from the Senate…” He paused, shaking his head, looking weary and worried.

“This is your arena, Senator,” Padme said slowly. “I feel I must return to mine. I’ve decided to go back to Naboo.”

“Go back?” Senator Palpatine said, his eyes going wide in alarm. “But Your Majesty, be realistic! They will force you to sign the treaty—”

“I will sign no treaty, Senator. My fate will be no different than that of our people.”

“You do not even have a ship, Your Majesty! I… could organize one for you, if that is your order to me as your subject, but…”

“I have already secured transport back to Naboo, Senator, though I thank you for your willingness to help,” Padme said dryly. Senator Palpatine blinked.

“The Jedi have agreed to help us further?” he asked hopefully.

“I have not yet asked them,” Padme said honestly, “though I do intend to request their aid again. No, Jango Fett has kindly agreed to take us back to Naboo, and he has offered to fight with us.”

“Oh my,” Senator Palpatine said, going a shade paler, his face tightening. “You may actually have a chance, Your Majesty, with Mandalorian warriors behind you. But… _please,_ let them go without you. Stay _here,_ where it’s _safe—_ ”

“It is clear to me now that the Republic no longer functions,” Padme said flatly. “I cannot stay here, among these… bureaucrats and… vipers. My place is with my people, Senator.”

With that, Padme turned on her heel, catching only a glimpse of the Senator’s shell-shocked expression before striding out of his office.

* * *

Padme was glad that she’d taken the time to change back into a simpler handmaiden’s dress before meeting Jango on the landing pad. He nodded deeply to Sabe, currently playing the Queen for her, and then Bo-Katan led her up the steps, the others following after them as Padme approached Jango.

“We’ll be ready to leave in an hour,” Jango said. “Myles is in Little Keldabe, picking up a few things; he’ll be back in thirty. After that, we only have flight checks.” Padme nodded, and then Jango’s comm chirped. He glanced down at his gauntlet and activated the speaker, rather than putting his helmet back on. “Fett.”

“ _Jango._ ” Padme blinked at Obi-Wan’s voice. He had Jango’s personal comm number? She had realized that they had gotten along well, on the trip to Coruscant, but not _that_ well. “ _I hear the_ Shereshoy _is headed for Naboo._ ”

“ _‘Lek._ We’re leaving in an hour,” Jango answered.

“ _Do you have room for two more?_ ” he asked lightly, and Padme’s heart leapt. The Jedi were sending Master Jinn and Obi-Wan back with them. She may not have gotten along with Master Jinn all that well, but she was grateful to be working with familiar people for this; the idea of going into battle was admittedly terrifying, and she had seen that Master Jinn and Obi-Wan were quite capable in a fight.

“Unless Myles comes back from his supply run with ten more passengers, we do,” Jango answered teasingly. Obi-Wan laughed lightly.

“ _We’ll be there in forty minutes at most. Traffic is a nightmare at this time of day,_ ” Obi-Wan sighed.

“We’ll wait for you,” Jango assured him.

“Vor’e, _Jango. See you soon, then._ ”

“ _Jate._ ” Jango ended the call and grinned at Padme. “Two _Jetiise_ and eighteen _Mando’ade._ That’s one Hel of a strike force.”

Padme raised an eyebrow. “And Captain Panaka, the Queen, and the five of us handmaidens,” she sniffed. “We all know how to shoot, and use knives.”

Jango grinned at her. “ _Ori’jate._ Excellent.” He paused, and Padme might have called his expression thoughtful, had it not been for the slightly manic gleam in his eyes. “How are you with explosives?”

* * *

Padme wasn’t sure what to expect from her first battle planning session, but she hadn’t expected it to take place over dinner, in the galley. Jango had eaten before them, so that he could speak while they ate. He nodded to a droid, who projected a still image from the clips the Mandalorians who had already been to Naboo had taken, showing the battalions of droids in the fields.

“These are B-1 battledroids, gen 3,” Jango began. “For those of you who don’t know the specs, I’ll sum up what’s important about them: they can’t act independently. They need a signal from the control ship to operate. We can’t meet that many droids in open battle—we don’t have the numbers for that. We would need an army of our own—”

“The Gungans issa bombad army!” Jar Jar interrupted before pausing to drink more of the milk they were given with their spicy stew. “Theysa fightin’, meesa know it!”

“Maybe,” Jango said, nodding slowly. “We’ll have to table that for now, anyway. No sense in making a plan that relies on them when we don’t even know if they would agree to help us. Besides, the best bet to cripple the Federation is to take out the control ship. But that may be a tall order.” Jango nodded to the droid, and the image switched, showing the strange, curved, _enormous_ ship Padme had seen in orbit when they had fled Naboo.

“This is a Lucrehulk-class droid control ship,” Jango said. “It has a triple-reenforced hull, military-grade shields, and some external ray shielding.” One of the Mandalorians whistled, and Jango nodded. “We will have the _Bes’bev_ joining us, and they do have heavy cannons, but two ships may not do it. We may need to dock with it and board to disable it.”

“Uh, sir?” one of the pilots spoke up, raising his hand, which was shaking. Jango nodded to him, pretending not to notice a few of the Mandalorians snickering at the nervous man. “Most of us are pilots. If we can get back into Theed, we have fighters there. We could help.”

“I am going to Theed in any case,” Padme spoke up, having taken back the crown for this conversation. Everyone turned to look at her, some sporting disapproving frowns, others looking simply curious, and a few Mandalorians were smiling a bit manically. “The Viceroy will no doubt be in my palace, knowing him. If we capture the Viceroy, they will be lost, and confused. His capture will be doubly important if you are unable to disable the droid control ship.”

Jango nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “I suggest a multi-day campaign. The first few days, we’ll focus on getting as many out of the camps as we can. The Trade Federation will easily believe that we aren’t going to meet them in battle, given the disparity in our numbers, and with any luck, there will be fighters in the camps.” Padme and the rest of the Naboo must have looked doubtful, and Jango paused. “Or at least anyone who can shoot. We have plenty of extra weapons. But if we strike at multiple camps, it will force them to deploy the droids to all of them, splitting the battalions and drawing them away from the city proper, making it easier for you to get to the palace.”

It would also relieve at least some of her people’s suffering in the meantime. Padme glanced at her handmaidens, who gave overwhelmingly approving responses via their discrete hand signal system, and then at Captain Panaka, who nodded slowly, and finally at Master Jinn and Obi-Wan. Master Jinn was grimacing, and gave no response, but Obi-Wan smiled. Padme turned back to Jango.

“A reasonable plan,” Padme agreed. “It will also give us time to investigate the possibility of help from the Gungans.”

Jango nodded. “ _Jate._ We’ll start planning the infiltration of Theed tomorrow at midmeal, and the raids on the camps the day after that. For now, any questions?”

There was a pause, and then one of the Mandalorians called, “Do we have any _netra’gal?_ ”

Snickering broke out across the room, and Padme smiled slightly. Jango rolled his eyes. “Go look for yourself, _di’kut._ Alright, everyone: briefing’s over. You’re dismissed.”

* * *

Breakfast aboard the Mandalorian’s ship, on the way to Coruscant, had been a rather bland collection of oats and dried fruits, though most of the Naboo were grateful for the simplicity of the meal, given how spicy lunch and dinner were. But now that they had apparently resupplied in Little Keldabe, (which Padme dearly wished she had had time to see, and resolved to come back to Coruscant, once all of this was finished with, so that she could visit that district), breakfast was _wonderful._ There were fresh omelettes, made from real eggs, not the reconstituted eggs they had had on their own Nubian cruiser on the way to Tatooine, and _fresh_ fruit. The Naboo dug in with gusto, and Padme, still chewing, merely nodded to Bo-Katan as she took the seat across from her, just vacated by Eirtee, giving her a smile.

“Jango said you know how to shoot,” Bo-Katan said without preamble. Padme blinked at her and politely finished swallowing her breakfast before answering.

“All of the handmaidens were taught, so that we may act as secondary protection for the Queen,” Padme told her. Bo-Katan nodded.

“Show me, after breakfast? I’m sure there are some pointers we can give you, and maybe a few different, more powerful, blaster models to try,” she said. Padme nodded eagerly, pretending not to see Captain Panaka’s _glower_ at that. He hated everything about this plan, just as Master Jinn did. But then, Captain Panaka seemed to hate any plan that put her in even the slightest amount of danger, and Master Jinn still seemed wary of these Mandalorians, though Padme could still not fathom _why._

“Of course. Your advice would be greatly appreciated,” Padme said. Bo-Katan smiled and lounged back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest.

“The Queen did well, with the Senate,” Bo-Katan said, and her eyes flicked to Padme’s wrist, where the _beskar_ bracelet still sat, though it was entirely covered by her sleeves. Padme felt her stomach clench at the realization that Bo-Katan must have known who she truly was, though she didn’t seem to be out to reveal her true identity.

“I’m certain she will be pleased to hear that you think so,” Padme said, managing a smile for her. Bo-Katan nodded.

“She reminds me some of Satine—my sister.”

Padme blinked, and then tilted her head. “Jango had said the same, although I did not realize she is your sister. She is a pacifist, I understand. What does she think about…?”

“This?” Bo-Katan asked, gesturing at herself, a lopsided grin on her face. “She hates it, but we’ve… compromised. Sat’ika understands that there are some battles that _need_ to be fought, and as long as we’re fighting on the moral high ground, she’s willing to help us clean up the aftermath—getting the people we’ve freed where they need to go, getting them resources, helping them into new lives, if they don’t have anywhere to go back to.” Bo-Katan shrugged. “We make it work. We’re all _Mando’ade,_ and working to better Mandalore.”

Padme frowned thoughtfully at that. “Freeing the galaxy’s slaves is very admirable, but how does it help Mandalore?”

Bo-Katan grinned at her. “Those we free who have nowhere else to go? If they don’t want to stay on the planet we freed them on, then we offer them citizenship. It’s helped us combat the massive population loss the Civil War caused. Plus, we’ve gotten more than a few trade agreements out of it, once the new, _anti-slavery_ governments are established. And besides, sending us to fight slavers keeps us from fighting each other.”

She blinked at that, and then nodded slowly. “I see. Those are… very Mandalorian reasons.”

Bo-Katan laughed. “We aren’t _Alderaanian,_ Padme. It’s _Mandalore_ we’re talking about.” Still looking amused, she rose, and snapped off a two-finger salute. “I’ll be waiting for you in the training room.”

* * *

Padme grinned in satisfaction as she finished her round of shots—she’d done well, in her opinion. She managed to hit the target each time, though her grouping wasn’t quite as tight as she’d like, and was certainly nowhere near the level of skill the Mandalorians beside her were showing.

Behind her, she heard Jango call out, “That’s an ELG-3A?”

Padme turned to him and nodded. “We all have them, along with a knife set, on us at all times.”

Jango nodded slowly and turned to another one of the Mandalorians, Silas, who was leaning against the wall, watching them all carefully. “Give her a Westar.” Silas nodded and moved toward one of the weapons racks along the wall, going for a pistol. “The ELG-3A is a good blaster, but it’s meant as a holdout. It’s more than good enough for your normal use, but not what you want to take into a fight like this one. Against droids, to pierce the armor, you’ll need something with a bit more punch to it. These—” Jango nodded to the pistol Silas handed her; Padme smiled at Silas in thanks. “—are what we normally use, when we’re after a pistol.”

Padme nodded and turned back to the range, where her target had been cleared. For a moment, she merely shifted her grip on the pistol, getting comfortable with it. It was heavier than her blaster, and made up of all right angles, it seemed, quite unlike the sweeping curve of the ELG-3A. Padme got a good, firm hold on the pistol and aimed. She frowned as her first shot went right.

“You don’t need to put as much pressure on the trigger as you do with an ELG,” Jango told her. Padme nodded to herself and raised her arms again, lining up her shot. She waited, firing on the exhale of her next breath, and hit the target more squarely this time. “ _Jate._ Again.”

* * *

After a few hours of practice, tips and adjustments from the Mandalorians, and Jango’s calls of “ _Jate._ Again,” Padme was still nowhere near their skill level, but she was better than she had been before, her groupings nice and tight. Glancing down the range at the other targets, Padme smiled as she saw the same was true of her handmaidens. Still, her arms were getting rather sore from being held in the same position for so long, and as much as she was pleased by their progress, Padme was grateful when Jango called for them to stop.

“ _Ori’jate,_ ” Jango said, nodding to them. “Very good. We’ll show you a few drills, later, so you can get a sense of how we fight, and what to expect.”

Sabe, again playing the Queen for Padme, nodded. “Thank you, Jango.”

He waved a hand. “ _N’entye._ Lunch should be ready, if you’re hungry.”

They immediately began leaving the range, ravenous after that round of training, though Padme let them all go first, taking up the rear. She was barely out the door when she heard Obi-Wan’s voice and started--she hadn’t even realized he’d been in the training room with them. _Almost_ feeling guilty for it, but rationalizing that she should know everything she could about the people who were going to help her fight for Naboo, Padme jabbed her toe into the door, stopping it from closing all the way so she could listen in.

“You’re a good teacher,” Obi-Wan said.

“ _Vor’e._ Most of what I know came from watching Jaster.” His father, Padme thought--the _Mand’alor._ No wonder he was a good teacher, and a good leader.

“My Master and I should train with you also. He has never fought with _Mando’ade_ before, and doesn’t know what to expect.” Padme frowned—and Obi-Wan _did_ know what to expect? When had he fought beside Mandalorians before? And why wouldn’t he have told them, when that could have been used as further evidence to convince them to accept Jango’s offer on Tatooine?

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Jango asked lightly. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh.

“He just might, if it is suggested to him by one of you, or the Queen,” Obi-Wan answered.

Jango hummed. “We’ll have to ask her to speak to him, then. Jinn really does not like me.”

“So you noticed that.”

Jango snorted. “It was hard not to, on the way to _Coruscanta._ He kept himself plastered to you like a mother tooka, whenever I was around.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “We spoke about that, a bit, before I commed you to arrange our return to Naboo. His opinion has… softened, somewhat, now that he knows how you knew us before we met.” There was a pause, and Padme frowned, because she had never gotten the answer to that question, either. “He feels very guilty about… our beginning.”

Padme’s frown deepened—what did _that_ mean? This conversation was quickly spawning more and more questions.

“As he should,” Jango said flatly. Obi-Wan started to protest, but Jango cut him off. “If it had been one of your friends, instead of you, would you have thought any of that was alright?”

 _That_ was an alarming question. What, exactly, had Master Jinn done to Obi-Wan? True, Padme may not have seen eye-to-eye with the man much, but she didn’t think him capable of harming his own apprentice.

...did she?

“It was the Will of the Force.”

“That’s what _he_ said, isn’t it?”

“Melidaan was also _my_ choice,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I could have left with him—”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Jango said—firmly, but not unkindly. “That was no _choice._ Going back to the Temple, or staying to save dying children? Any _Jetii_ worth the title would choose the _ade,_ every time. Why didn’t he?”

“Master Tahl needed care, and that was his mission mandate,” Obi-Wan said, sounding… tired, like he was repeating something he’d said many times before. “I’m certain he would have spoken to the Council, and asked them to send aid, if not return him to Melidaan. But that was made unnecessary by the fact that I was there. Master Tahl lived, the war between the Melida and the Daan was ended, and the Young _won._ As the Force Willed.”

There was another long pause, and Jango sighed. “I talked to Windu about it. He said Jinn didn’t tell the Council the full truth, when he returned to the Temple without you. Not at first. None of them knew _how young_ the Young actually were, or why you really left. Apparently, he told them you chose to leave the Order because you became too attached to a local girl.”

“That _is,_ technically, the truth,” Obi-Wan said. Jango _growled,_ and Padme jumped slightly at the noise.

“What happened to you was wrong, Obi-Wan. I don’t give a damn if Jinn doesn’t like me because I’m a reminder of what he did. I don’t care if he feels _guilty_ about it, because he damn well should,” Jango spat, and then took a moment. Calmer, he continued, “I will tolerate him, and I will work with him, but I doubt we’ll ever be friends.”

“I forgave him for it a very long time ago,” Obi-Wan sighed. “He had his reasons, Jango.”

“There is no reason in the universe that would make you do what he did,” Jango said flatly.

“You seem very certain of that,” Obi-Wan said, sounding almost… baffled. Well, at least Padme was no longer the only one who was confused.

“I am.”

“You can’t know that, Jango. You barely know me.”

“I know what the records from Bandomeer said—how you tried to take others’ whippings for them, and how you stopped eating after the first day, giving your food to the other _slaves,_ ” Jango said. Padme sucked in a breath. _Obi-Wan_ had been a _slave?_ But… he was a Jedi! How was that _possible?_ “I know what our mutual friend told me about Melidaan. The decisions a person makes under those sorts of circumstances… No one would have thought twice if you’d just barely _survived._ No one would have blamed you for not being able to help anyone else, or going back to the Temple with your Master, where you would have been safe. But you helped them, even when it put your own life in danger.”

“I did nothing _exceptional,_ ” Obi-Wan protested, sounding exasperated. “That is simply the Jedi way.”

“The _ideal_ of it, maybe. I think there are few others who would actually have lived up to it, in the same _haran’e_ you were in,” Jango sighed. “And it’s also the _Mandalorian_ way. _That_ is exactly the kind of honor demanded by the _Resol’nare._ So, yes, Obi-Wan. We may have just met, but I _know_ you. I knew the kind of man you would be before you ever even met me.”

There was a much longer pause after that, and Padme almost left, but then she heard Obi-Wan say, “Well, I am pleased that I seem to be living up to your expectations.”

Jango laughed. “I’m reserving final judgement until I actually see you in a fight.”

Obi-Wan chuckled at that, and then Padme heard footsteps—they were heading for the door. Hoping they hadn’t seen her foot jamming it and the few inches it slid closed when she stepped back, she turned and scampered down the corridor as quickly, but quietly, as she could.

Now, if she could just find a way to ask for the answers to the questions she now had without admitting that she’d spied on them…

* * *

As it turned out, there was precious little time for Padme to think much further on the mystery of Obi-Wan’s life before she’d met him. Training and strategy meetings began to take up the bulk of all of their time, and it left Padme absolutely _aching_ and grateful to fall into bed each night.

The final day before they reached Naboo, they were finally given a break. Bo-Katan laughed at their obvious relief, but explained, “You need a day to rest. You aren’t used to doing this every day, and we don’t want you over-tired before the actual fighting starts. So no training today, but if I were you, I would _absolutely_ be in the training room after lunch.”

“Why?” Rabe asked curiously. Bo-Katan grinned widely.

“Jinn can’t put it off any longer. He and Kenobi are running drills with us.”

“I see. Thank you for the suggestion,” Rabe answered politely, but her excitement was clear in her broad grin. Bo-Katan snorted and shrugged.

“It’ll be fun.”

* * *

It certainly _looked_ like fun, Padme thought—at least for the Mandalorians, and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was grinning broadly, snarking with the Mandalorians beside him with a surprisingly sharp tongue, and Padme suspected that if she could have seen the Mandalorians’ faces, they all would have been smiling.

But Master Jinn was silent, and frowning, a furrow between his brows as he leapt and flipped around the Mandalorians, deflecting their bolts with his lightsaber. Half of the squad was playing the part of droids, lined up and firing at them, and while Master Jinn seemed to be doing perfectly fine on his own, even Padme could see that he wasn’t truly integrating into their unit.

Finally, Jango called for them all to stop, and tugged his helmet off, tucking it beneath his left arm. He stared at Master Jinn for a long moment, Master Jinn gazing steadily back, and then Jango nodded. “Let’s spar.”

Master Jinn frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You need to understand how we fight,” Jango said flatly, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s not working in drills. So let’s spar. You and me.”

“Jango—”

Obi-Wan’s protest was cut off by Master Jinn. “Very well.”

Jango nodded and slipped his helmet back on, and the rest of the Mandalorians began to fall back against the walls; Padme frowned when she saw that Bo-Katan had to grab Obi-Wan’s arm and force him back, away from them—Obi-Wan was grimacing faintly as he stared intently at Master Jinn and Jango. Surely he didn’t think that they would truly hurt each other…?

She thought back on that conversation she had overheard between Jango and Obi-Wan, and Padme grimaced herself, then. Perhaps they might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get to Naboo next chapter, and we'll have a Jango POV for it! :D
> 
> UPDATE: Thank you so much for all the reviews, and the kudos, and everything! Definitely wasn't expecting this much response to the story, so I'm glad you like it! :D :D :D
> 
> A note about Qui-Gon in this story, though: I like him. I think he's one of the best examples of a *normal person* in Star Wars. He's a great man who's done great things, but he's also made some selfish, bad choices. He's not Obi-Wan, who is so self-sacrificing and noble that we want to shake him, and he's not Anakin, who Fell because of his stupid and selfish choices, but he's the middle between them, IMO. So there's not going to be a lot of Qui-Gon hate or bashing in this fic, overall.
> 
> But me personally--I think he's okay. He's just a normal person, born with extraordinary powers, and doing his best to be a good Jedi even though he's just a normal person who fails sometimes. I think a lot of the Order members that we *don't* see much of are like him. But we focus on the heroes, who are going to be exceptional because they are the heroes, because that's the nature of the story, and in canon, everything was driven by the Council, and Obi-Wan (the Sith Killer, Master of the Chosen One, the youngest Master on the Council during the Clone Wars, pretty freaking exceptional himself). So I think that Qui-Gon represents the silent majority of the Order, and serves as a barometer for us to get to say "wow, that's a great Jedi" when we see someone who's close to the actual ideal Jedi, like Obi-Wan.
> 
> And again, that's just my opinion. I've read plenty of fics that bash Qui-Gon, and just as many that are pro-Qui. I think it's all just about what lens you want to view everything through.
> 
> That said, Jango hates his guts. He even has good reasons to hate his guts, since all he really knows about Qui-Gon is what he was like and what he did during Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, and that included some of Qui-Gon's worst bad decisions--the ones that, y'know, seriously hurt the man Jango ended up falling in love with. So, when we're talking about Qui-Gon from Jango's POV, it's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. BUT there is one teeny, tiny little lesson he was supposed to remember, I'll say that much. ;)
> 
> /rant over!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! :) This chapter was starting to get a bit long, so I'm splitting it into 2 parts.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions! I'm so happy you're liking this as much as I like writing it! ;)

The trick to killing a  _ Jetii,  _ Jango knew from brutal experience, was to do it with your bare hands. Sure, that  _ sounded  _ as though it would be harder to do, but he knew better. He’d learned quickly on Galidraan—he’d had to, or he wouldn’t have survived.

If you tried to use a blaster against a  _ Jetii,  _ you had better pray that you had enough allies standing beside you to overwhelm them—and overwhelming a single  _ Jetii  _ was usually a five-to-one ratio. Or, at least, that was how many fully trained  _ Haat Mando’ade  _ each  _ Jetii  _ averaged out on Galidraan. But one-on-one, a  _ Jetii  _ against a blaster was no contest at all. Even disarmed, a  _ Jetii’s  _ Force powers meant that they could dodge and leap and roll in evasive maneuvers Jango couldn’t ever dream to match, even with his jetpack, up in the air.

Even a  _ beskad  _ wasn’t likely to do it. If the sword was true  _ beskar,  _ it  _ would  _ be able to parry lightsaber strikes—provided you had reflexes sharp enough to keep up with a  _ Jetii,  _ and unless you were one of them, that was essentially impossible.

The first  _ Jetii  _ Jango had killed with his bare hands had been in a fit of  _ rage  _ and  _ revenge  _ after watching one of them slice Myles in half. After the second, when Jango’s bloodlust had been sated just enough for him to  _ think  _ again, he’d realized something:  _ Jetiise  _ were not terribly  _ good  _ at hand-to-hand combat.

The trick to killing a  _ Jetii  _ was simple: get in close enough to take away their option of using their  _ Jetii’kad  _ for fear of hurting  _ themselves  _ with it, and then pray to the  _ ka’ra  _ that you were better at hand-to-hand than they were. Thankfully, even with their reflexes, none of the  _ Jetiise  _ Jango had fought had been very good at it. That didn’t surprise him much, as the  _ Jetiise  _ seemed to place an emphasis on their  _ kadause  _ to the detriment of any other weapons, including their own bodies, beyond the basics of self-defense and forms. “Your lightsaber is your life,” they all chanted, and the Order certainly trained them with that mantra in mind.

Jango was, frankly, glad that the point of this particular spar would have been made moot if he’d resorted to hand-to-hand combat. If he’d gone at Jinn hand-to-hand, Jango thought that maybe—probably, if he was honest with himself—he might not have held back as much as he should. Not as much as Obi-Wan would want him to.

And Jango had been honest, when he said that Jinn needed to  _ understand  _ how they fought—but more specifically, he needed to understand the approach they would take against  _ droids.  _ Not  _ Jetiise. _

So Jango made liberal use of his jetpack, keeping himself out of range of the  _ Jetii’kad _ —that Jinn had, at least, had the consideration to turn down to its lowest power setting, which would only singe his  _ kute,  _ if it even managed to make contact with anything other than his  _ beskar’gam _ —and and keeping himself to using his Westars, mainly, letting the  _ Jetii  _ deflect the bolts back at him, which he’d gritted his teeth and set to stun.

To keep his mind off of how much he’d like to holster his blasters and rush the  _ Jetii  _ and break him with his bare hands, Jango turned to studying him clinically. It was interesting to watch him using what Jango had realized was called Ataru to deflect the bolts. Soresu, Obi-Wan’s favored form  _ last time,  _ seemed much more suited for defense against blaster bolts than Ataru did; a moment later, Jinn seemed to realize the same. Jango saw Jinn frown, and then watched his stance change into something that made Jango tense. That reminded him of  _ Dooku.  _ Still, whatever form this was seemed to be working better; Jinn’s acrobatics had slowed, instead relying on fast footwork and minute changes in his grip to direct his  _ kad  _ to deflect the bolts.

Finally, Jinn began to relax, settling into a rhythm. The frown disappeared, his expression smoothing into something approaching serenity, his eyes getting a sort of glazed, far-away look to them, and Jango smirked beneath his helmet. He knew that look—he’d seen it on Obi-Wan’s face often, during the war. He’d called it  _ battle meditation,  _ sinking into the Force while fighting.

That meant that Jinn gotten it, and Jango had accomplished his purpose. He killed his jetpack, landing softly, and holstered his Westars. Jinn came to a stop as well, though it took him a moment longer to deactivate his ‘saber and clip it to his belt, his eyes slowly clearing.

Jango nodded and reached up to pull off his  _ buy’ce.  _ “ _ Jate.  _ You found your rhythm.”

Jinn nodded slowly. “I suppose I did.” He hesitated, and then bowed at the shoulders. “Thank you.”

Jango tried to resist the urge to scowl, unable to articulate even to himself how he felt about that. Instead, he simply nodded back and waved a hand at the others, still lined up around the edges of the room. “We’re done. Everyone get some rest: we’ll be coming out of hyperspace in twelve hours.”

Jango found Bo-Katan and met her gaze, and then looked over to Padme. He glanced back at Bo-Katan, and she nodded, the silent message received. Though truthfully, Jango didn’t think she needed to be told to look after the young Queen—the two had taken a liking to each other, and he knew Bo-Katan admired Padme’s spirit. She’d made that quite clear when she’d called the girl  _ Mandokar. _

Jango watched everyone filter out of the room, purposefully looking away when Jinn approached Obi-Wan, the two of them speaking briefly before Jinn left as well. Once again, it was just him and Obi-Wan left alone in the room; Obi-Wan was smiling at him as he approached.

“ _ Vor entye, _ ” Obi-Wan said, pronouncing the words carefully. Jango smiled back at the sound of Mando’a falling from his lips, and then blinked at him.

“What for?”

“Not actually hurting him,” Obi-Wan answered, his smile genuine and his eyes dancing with mirth. Jango raised an eyebrow. “You went easy on him, and I appreciate you not indulging the rather… violent ideas you had.”

Jango frowned at that. “I meant what I said. I’ll work with him, and I’ll tolerate him.” He shrugged. “And how do you know I had ‘violent ideas?’”

Obi-Wan grimaced faintly. “You projected rather intensely into the Force, when we spoke about him before.”

...fair enough. Jango had spent most of that conversation alternately focusing on the elation of getting to be so close to Obi-Wan, and thinking about how much he wanted to… punch Jinn in the face. He hadn’t let himself imagine anything else.

“... _ n’entye, _ ” Jango finally said. Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in another smile, and Jango couldn’t help but smile back. Kark, he was glad none of the others were around to see this. The teasing would be  _ endless. _

* * *

Slipping past the blockade and landing on Naboo was easy, though Jango hadn’t expected it to be difficult. The Federation took a few pot-shots at them, but they were just for show. He knew that they wanted the Queen back on Naboo, to force her to sign the treaty, and had certainly heard that she planned to return.

Sidious—Palpatine—had no doubt warned the Federation.

...and what to do about  _ him  _ was a question that had loomed over Jango from the beginning of this whole mess, and he, truthfully, hadn’t gotten much further in his planning than “become allies with the  _ Jetiise _ so they can help deal with him.” Not a  _ great  _ plan, but Jango  _ had,  _ at least, been succeeding in tearing down the  _ Dar’jetii’s  _ allies, over the years. The Hutts, the Bando Gora, the Black Sun—it had been easy, once he convinced Jaster to declare war on slavery, to weaken them. His political allies would be harder, at least until Jango had more pull with the  _ Jetiise,  _ until he’d earned their trust, or Jaster managed something politically. Though that would require rebuilding Mandalore’s relations with the Republic—a task Jango had begun, during their brief stay on Coruscant, but it would take time to get to where he needed to be to effect the changes they would need. Time Jango wasn’t entirely sure he had.

“We’re ready, Jango.” He turned, pulling himself from his thoughts, and nodded at Silas. Shoving his  _ buy’ce  _ back on, he turned and followed Silas out of the ship.

Naboo was… pretty. It was lush with forests, with vast oceans. It made Jango’s skin crawl—he much preferred places like Concord Dawn, or even Coruscant, where the darkness they bred was readily apparent, if you knew to look for it. But Naboo… Somehow, this place had spawned  _ Darth Sidious,  _ and Jango didn’t like the idea that that sort of darkness and cruelty could hide so well in a place like this. It was… unsettling.

They made camp as efficiently as they ever did, settling the ship down in one of the forests not far from Theed, where it would be harder for the Federation to find given the cover the foliage provided, and the chatter on their comms told Jango the others were already setting up a perimeter, setting proximity sensors among the trees.

“We should make the first run tonight,” Myles suggested, joining Jango and Silas they left the ship. “Everyone’s getting antsy.”

Jango huffed a laugh and shrugged one shoulder. “Fine by me. We’ll hit at least one of the camps on the opposite side of Theed—with any luck, it’ll make the Federation think we’re based over there.”

Myles nodded. “There are three camps on the east side of Theed.”

“Send Bo-Katan’s squad to scout them,” Jango ordered. “Silas, you take your squad and scout the camps on this side of Theed; you can meet us on the other side after dark for the raid. Myles, we’ll need your squad here, protecting the Naboo and the ship.”

“ _ ‘Lek, Alor. _ ”

They both turned on their heels and marched off, no doubt to follow his orders, and Jango scanned the clearing. The Nubian pilots were helping the  _ Mando’ade  _ set the perimeter sensors out in a grid, and the handmaidens were grouped around Binks, Jinn, and Obi-Wan. Jango made for them first.

“—havin’ to be goin’ underwater, to Gunga City,” Binks was saying, waving his hands wildly. Jinn took a half step back to avoid being hit by one of them, and Jango snorted softly.

“Perhaps we should go in your stead, Jar Jar,” Obi-Wan suggested, frowning slightly. “We know the way to the city, now, and parted with Boss Nass on good terms.”

“‘Cause yousa  _ leavin’  _ last time. Yousa comin’ back—bad bombin’ meesa think,” the Gungan answered. His face was difficult for Jango to read, but he thought Binks looked worried. “They no likin’ outsiders.”

“Take us with you, then,” the Queen suggested. Jango looked a bit closer—Sabe, he thought. He glanced to the girl beside her, and nodded to himself; that was Padme. “We are not outsiders. We are  _ all  _ Naboo, and this is our shared home. Surely we can come to an understanding.”

“You are under our protection, Your Highness,” Jinn reminded her. “Our duty is to remain at your side. If you go, we must go as well.”

“We can settle this later, since we can’t go until tomorrow anyway,,” Jango interrupted, and they all turned to look at him. “Though, speaking of staying with the Queen… There are two of you  _ Jetiise, _ and we wouldn’t say no to another body for tonight’s raid.”

The handmaidens all turned pleading eyes on the  _ Jetiise,  _ and Jango smiled beneath his helmet. Padme might be the most openly  _ fierce  _ of them, but they all cared deeply for their people, and considered their protection and liberation far more important than their own safety. Jinn turned to Obi-Wan, frowning at him, and Obi-Wan tilted his head. Jango realized they were probably communicating through the Force—he’d seen Obi-Wan and Skywalker do that, and then later, Obi-Wan— _ Ben _ —and Luke.

“I can go with you,” Obi-Wan volunteered. “I’m certain Master Jinn and Captain Panaka will be more than capable of seeing to Her Majesty’s safety.”

“We’re leaving a full squad as well, to guard the ship and the Naboo who stay behind,” Jango added. Obi-Wan nodded, looking pleased, while Jinn’s face had gone carefully blank. Jango thought he could guess at the reason, given how reluctant he still was, at times, to leave Obi-Wan around the  _ Mando’ade  _ without him there to supervise. He smirked under his  _ buy’ce.  _ “I sent Bo-Katan and her squad to scout the camps we’ll be hitting tonight. In the meantime, we’ll need to arrange transportation for those we free. Since we’ll be focusing on getting the most critical cases out first, we can’t rely on all of them being able to walk.” The handmaidens’ faces turned somber at that, and tinged with anger. Jango turned to them. “Those fields on the outskirts of the city proper—those are farms, yes?”

“Yes,” Padme answered slowly. Jango nodded.

“ _ Jate.  _ I doubt the Federation cared enough to raid their supplies; we should be able to find speeders with towing capabilities and hoversleds there. Those will do, for now.”

They nodded slowly, and then Obi-Wan spoke up, a strangely sheepish expression on his face. “Perhaps I could help with that as well. I do know how to hotwire a speeder.”

Something rueful flickered across Jinn’s face at that, and Jango wondered what the story behind that was. But now wasn’t the time to ask, so he simply nodded. “The two of us will go alone. The quieter, the better. We’ll leave the speeders near the camps we intend to hit, and have the others meet us there.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Jinn, who simply nodded, though Jango could tell he didn’t like this plan. He was grateful once again for the cover of his  _ buy’ce  _ as he smirked.

* * *

Obi-Wan was frowning at him, and Jango resisted the urge to sigh. “You know this is the most reasonable plan.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that, still frowning at him, and it was too karking  _ easy  _ to see the shadow of General Kenobi in that expression, the way he’d looked whenever the Council gave them orders he disagreed with, but wouldn’t tell them outright, or when Skywalker suggested doing something stupid and called it an actual  _ plan.  _ Jango  _ did  _ sigh at that.

“We won’t be able to take a vehicle with us, not when we’ll both need to leave on speeders from the farms,” Jango pointed out yet  _ again.  _ “This makes the most sense.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, but Jango could see  _ resignation  _ starting to take root in his eyes. “With the assistance of the Force, I  _ can  _ run fast enough to keep up with you.”

“I’m sure you could,” Jango agreed, because he’d seen it before, and he didn’t doubt Obi-Wan  _ could.  _ “But we’ll also have a night of fighting ahead of us, and I wouldn’t want you to waste your energy when I have a jetpack capable of lifting both of us.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Obi-Wan, as always, seeming to know exactly where his gaze was even through his T-visor. Finally, Jango sighed, and decided to go for the low blow. “I thought you said you trust me.”

Obi-Wan frowned harder at that, but the look in his eyes changed again, something like  _ regret  _ joining the  _ resignation.  _ He nodded. “I do. I… fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Jango nodded and opened his arms, and Obi-Wan flushed slightly—wasn’t  _ that  _ interesting?—before approaching him, carefully wrapping his arms around Jango’s neck. Jango wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, getting a good hold on him, and hoped that the  _ beskar  _ he wore muffled how  _ satisfying  _ this was, getting to hold Obi-Wan so close, wishing his armor wasn’t between them so he could actually feel his warmth—

Jango cut off  _ that  _ train of thought quickly, knowing he couldn’t afford to get distracted now. “Hang on.”

He lifted them both off easily, his jetpack rated for well more than his own weight, plus Obi-Wan’s (and he felt lighter than he should, and Jango had to wonder if the self-care issues he’d seen during the war hadn’t actually cropped up  _ during  _ the war, but long before that—probably yet another problem to lay at Jinn’s feet), and Jango carefully stamped down any pleasure he felt as Obi-Wan held him a bit tighter. He flew them low, to avoid being spotted, but he’d chosen twilight for a  _ reason.  _ The droids had good night vision, and enhanced range during the day, but during twilight and dawn hours, their visual inputs hadn’t switched over yet, and they were more likely to miss them, from a distance.

“How do you know how to hotwire a speeder?” Jango asked. Obi-Wan huffed, Jango only picking it up past the wind noise because it was right near his ear.

“A friend of mine taught me.”

“Not a friend Jinn approves of?”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Perhaps not at first, but he’s a good sort. He was an arms dealer, when we met. Now he runs a diner on Coruscant.”

Dexter Jettster, then. Jango hadn’t personally met him, though a few of the residents of Little Keldabe knew him, and Jango could tell at least half of Dex’s stories from watching over Obi-Wan’s visits there, in the future-past. He knew that while Dex had gotten out of the arms game for real, he was still an information broker, and happy to take a finder’s fee to put them in touch with his contacts, many of whom were still good despite the years he’d now spent retired.

Jango landed at one of the farms, bringing them down more carefully than he would have if it were just himself, slowly easing off the power instead of dropping. Obi-Wan made sure his feet were securely on the ground before letting go of him, and Jango immediately missed the contact.

...not important right now. Jango turned away and started heading for what looked sort of like a barn, or another storage structure, though it was cylindrical and tall rather than low and rectangular, as he was used to seeing, and had a thatched roof on it. It was locked, and Jango was about to start picking it when Obi-Wan held out a hand, and the tumblers whirred, and then the lock fell to the ground.

“That’s handy,” Jango murmured. Obi-Wan smiled.

“Quite, though that is yet another skill my Master wishes I had not learned.”

“Why? You pick a lock you shouldn’t have, see something you weren’t meant to see?” Jango could only imagine the awkward scenarios that had played out, little tiny Obi-Wan walking in on his Master’s private time…  _ Ka’ra  _ knew Boba had done that a few times, and caught Jango in the middle of shouting down some of the  _ Cuy’val Dar  _ or the  _ Kaminiise,  _ hearing words Jango hadn’t wanted him to learn until he was at least  _ twenty. _

Obi-Wan hummed as they made their way into the barn, ducking around a large pile of some sort of grain that was almost like hay. “Something like that, yes. There are very few locks at all in the Temple, you see—we can always sense if another is already in the room we intend to enter, and if they would like company or not. But those doors that  _ are  _ locked are… very much locked for a reason.”

“...right,” Jango said flatly. He remembered Quinlan Vos, the  _ Jetii  _ Shadow, and how his entire purpose for the Order had been focused on finding Sith artefacts, and information about them. Jango didn’t like thinking about what they might be hiding in those locked rooms.

A half-formed idea filtered through his mind, then—the main library in Keldabe hadn’t been destroyed, because Kryze had never become ruler of Mandalore, and hadn’t had the opportunity to destroy everything of their history she could get her hands on. And Mandalore had its fair share of contact with the Sith. Hels, Jango knew they had Sith artefacts of their own locked away in some of the deeper, better-protected bits of the archives. That would be a valuable bargaining chip...

He glanced at Obi-Wan as they walked past a workbench, finally finding what they were looking for. Obi-Wan looked around for a key, and, not seeing one, shrugged and knelt beside it. He pulled off the panel beneath the controls and started pulling wires out. Within a matter of seconds, it started up, and Obi-Wan looked up and smiled at him.

“One down, one to go,” he said cheerfully. Jango nodded. “I’ll take this one to the rendezvous point.”

“Keep to the woods as much as you can,” Jango said. “Or at least near the edge of the forest.”

Obi-Wan nodded and climbed into the speeder. “Of course. Good luck.”

“I thought it was ‘may the Force be with you,’” Jango snarked back. Obi-Wan laughed.

“Somehow, I wasn’t sure you would appreciate that sentiment,” he answered. Jango just shrugged, but didn’t deny it. “See you soon, then.”

* * *

Their meeting point was easy to find, and everyone was already present and accounted for when Jango arrived with his own speeder and hoversled. Bo-Katan, Silas, and Obi-Wan made their way to him as he stepped out.

“ _ Me’vaar ti gar? _ ” Jango demanded.

“Twenty foot fence, electric. Shoddy construction though,” Bo-Katan reported. “They didn’t even dig post trenches properly; if it wasn’t for the high voltage, we’d be able to just knock it down. We have tools to deal with it, but those are loud. If we’re going in loud, then we might as well use our jetpacks.” Jango frowned at that; the Federation clearly wasn’t planning on keeping the Naboo there for long, then. Not that Jango planned on leaving them there for long himself, but it would have been nice to be able to divine more of the Federation’s plans. Jango nodded.

“And how many clankers?” he asked, the word falling from his lips before he could think about it. Bo-Katan tilted her head, but didn’t comment on it; Jango heard Silas snicker a bit at that description.

“Forty in each camp,” she answered. Jango nodded again, more slowly this time.

“I would prefer to do this quietly, but it sounds like we’ll have to use jetpacks for this, or knock on the front door and wait for them to come out,” Jango sighed. Obi-Wan tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Or I could jump the fence, find the power source, and cut the line,” he offered. They all looked at him, and there was a long moment of silence.

“...you can jump that high? Without a jetpack?” Silas asked slowly. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Of course,” he said. “I could also theoretically not jump at all, and use the Force to levitate myself over, but that isn’t quite what we’re trained to do. We ask the Force for assistance, not to do all of the heavy lifting for us.”

“...huh.”

“That means you’d have to hit a second camp straight after, or that we’d need to focus on only one camp,” Jango said slowly. Obi-Wan shrugged again.

“As I tried to point out earlier, I can also use the Force to enhance my running speed,” he said, and Jango couldn’t help but smile at the wry teasing. “I could easily go from one camp to another. They’re only a few kliks out from each other.”

“...right,” Silas said slowly. “We would need you on comms, to coordinate timing.”

Obi-Wan held up his wrist, where Jango had attached a commlink tied to the frequency their  _ buy’cese  _ were all on. “He did think of that.” He nodded his head towards Jango.

“I think this is the best plan we’re likely to find, if stealth is what we’re after,” Silas agreed, shrugging.

“That does explain why you didn’t want Myles’s squad on this,” Bo-Katan said, her amusement plain even through the vocorder.

“Myles will get his chance to play with explosives later,” Jango sighed, shaking his head. “For now, we want them guessing at our next move. We’ll hit the northernmost camp, and then the one directly west of it. North first; Silas, you’ll take that camp. Bo-Katan, we’ll all go in together towards the north camp, and your squad will move west from there. Have you both chosen the rookies you’ll leave here, to bring the speeders, when we call for them?”

“Ah, well…” Silas cringed slightly and slowly turned towards the squads. Jango frowned and followed his gaze, immediately sighing when he saw two of the handmaidens—he looked a bit closer and outright scowled.

“You let  _ her  _ come?” Jango muttered, staring at Padme, speaking animatedly with Drez, one of the younger rookies. Bo-Katan huffed.

“She didn’t exactly give us a choice in the matter,” Bo-Katan answered. “They both followed us. Figured it was better for them to have orders to follow than go charging in half-cocked.” She paused, and then sighed. “And they’re fourteen,  _ Alor. _ ”

“They aren’t  _ Mando’ade, _ ” Jango said gruffly.

“The Naboo have very similar ideas about adulthood, and rites of passage,” Bo-Katan argued. “They can make their own choices. We have to respect that.”

“...leave two  _ verde  _ with them. One from each of your squads,” Jango sighed. “Just in case.”

“ _ Elek, Alor. _ ”

Jango nodded. “ _ Ke’shaadla.  _ Bo-Katan: it’s your lead. Obi-Wan, you’re right behind her. I’ll take the rear, for now.”

* * *

Jango had seen Obi-Wan Force jump a  _ lot.  _ It had been a staple for him during the war, sometimes out of necessity, and other times because he was acting as a flashy distraction for his men.

Still, to see it in person—truly  _ in person,  _ not… whatever sort of ghost he’d been before—was… something else. Obi-Wan did it quickly, and quietly, but Jango made sure to watch carefully, drinking in the sight of him. He jumped, impossibly high at first, but not quite high enough, and then  _ flipped  _ over the fence, landing softly in a crouch on the other side. He activated the comm.

“ _ I’m in. _ ”

“...we know,” Bo-Katan answered dryly. Obi-Wan snorted softly and then disappeared behind one of the flimsy tents the Naboo were being kept in, sticking to the shadows and deftly avoiding the droids. It took only a little over a minute before Obi-Wan reported back.

“ _ I’ve found the generator. It’ll only take me a moment to figure out which line goes to the fence, _ ” he murmured. True to his words, only a few seconds later, Jango heard the telltale, quiet  _ pop  _ of the field suddenly sparking out.

“Aww, no!” a mechanical voice cried. “Captain, the fence is on the fritz again!”

“Now,” Jango ordered. Silas and his squad stepped up, getting to work cutting the fence. Obi-Wan soon reappeared, slipping through the hole they’d just made.

“Nicely done,” Bo-Katan said. Obi-Wan nodded his thanks, and then turned to Silas.

“I warned several of the Naboo that you would be coming for them. They should be cooperative enough, and I already relayed to focus on the wounded, sick, and young.”

“ _ Vor’e, _ ” Silas said easily, nodding to him. “Alright,  _ verde.  _ We’ve got people to evacuate. Let’s get to it.”

Jango nodded to them as they entered the camp, and then moved to follow Bo-Katan’s squad as they headed for the next camp, Obi-Wan taking off ahead of them to repeat the procedure.

They moved slowly, carefully, and low in the tall grass. Jango thought it was stupid of the Federation not to flatten the fields around the camps, but he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t. The entire operation they were running here screamed inexperience, and a stark lack of proper preparation; halfway there, he called for the speeders to meet them, going slowly so as to be quiet, and sticking to the shadows.

It was very unlike the Sith, now that he thought about it. Sidious never did anything that wasn’t meticulously plans, and, looking back, probably  _ decades  _ in the making. And given what Obi-Wan had said about how Naboo unfolded the first time, given that it had made Palpatine Chancellor of the Republic, it was clear that the Sith were behind it. So why was this sloppy, when everything else he accomplished was so polished?

He forced himself back to the present as they reached the next camp, nodding to Bo-Katan’s second, Shiira, to begin cutting into it. Soon after they started, a middle-aged man crept up to the fence, glancing over his shoulder a few times and keeping very low.

“You’re the ones the Queen sent?” he asked softly. Jango nodded. “And you’re with the Jedi?”

“Yes,” Jango said. “We’re here to help. Your Queen is safe, I can tell you that for now.” The man nodded slowly, and Jango nodded back. “Are the wounded grouped together?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Good. Can you lead us there?”

“I told the Jedi the way. He told me and the others to gather as many children as we could.” Jango nodded again.

“Good.”

“There we go,” Shiira said, pulling the fence apart and putting away her cutters. “After you,  _ Alor. _ ”

Jango crept in without another word, motioning the man forward. He was darker skinned than the handmaidens, and a bit darker still than Panaka, with hair greying at the temples, and a scar above his eyebrow.

“We’re gathering the children in groups of three; Jedi said you wanted to keep this quiet,” the man murmured. Jango nodded, motioning for Bo-Katan to follow him.

“Point me toward the  _ Jetii.  _ He’ll need help moving the wounded,” Jango said. The man nodded.

“Head past that tent on your right, and then follow that back to the fence. They’re in the last tent on that side.” Jango nodded and signalled for Shiira and Go’tal to follow him.

Finding Obi-Wan was easy, and he quickly left the tent to meet them.

“There are seven who will need treatment quickly if they are to live, but three wouldn’t survive being moved anyway,” Obi-Wan said. It was delivered so matter-of-factly that it made Jango’s heart ache, some of his old rage rising. He knew why Obi-Wan had been one of the most effective commanders in the Republic army. He knew why, even now, when he wasn’t even a Knight yet, Obi-Wan knew how to compartmentalize like this, how he already knew how to prioritize matters of life and death, and give orders that condemned people. His gnawing hatred for Jinn rose up again for a moment at the reminder of Melidaan, and Obi-Wan as a child soldier, a karking  _ general  _ at  _ thirteen,  _ but he calmed himself quickly, breathing out slowly.

Now wasn’t the time for that.

“We can make room for four,” Jango said firmly. “Can any of them walk?”

“To the speeder, perhaps, but not beyond that,” Obi-Wan said. “Only one of them has a wound serious enough to threaten his life on its own. The other three had relatively minor injuries that have become infected.”

Jango nodded slowly. “Alright.” He gestured back to the tent, and Obi-Wan nodded. He quietly and discreetly pointed out the four he had meant. Three of them were slightly glassy-eyed, with a tell-tale waxy sheen that spoke of the infection Obi-Wan had mentioned; one was pressing his hand to his chest, his tunic soaked in blood.

They each took the arm of one of the Naboo and draped it over their shoulders, helping them to hobble out of the tent. It was slow going, and Jango grimaced, hoping the  _ ka’ra  _ were with them and they wouldn’t be spotted. It would be difficult to fire back like this if they were found.

Thankfully, they weren’t, and they managed to deposit the wounded into the speeder, along with the nine children already on the hoversled. Jango eyed them all critically and turned back to his  _ verde. _

“I think we have room for a few more kids.”

Bo-Katan nodded. “I’ll get three more, but I’m glad to say we’ve already gotten the youngest of them.” Jango looked back at the hoversled and frowned. They looked to be toddlers, at the youngest. Were there no babies in this camp? ...the alternative, that they were too late for them, made his stomach churn, and he decided not to think about that.

Bo-Katan and Lauma were gone for too long. Jango frowned and hit his comms again.

“Bo-Katan,  _ me’vaar ti gar? _ ”

There was only silence, and Jango scowled. Either she was in a position where she wasn’t able to hit her comms, or she wasn’t in a position to respond at all.

Obi-Wan suddenly stiffened, and Jango sighed.

“Trouble?”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan murmured, frowning. “It’s difficult to tell. Droids don’t give much of an impression in the Force, and neither do you, in  _ beskar’gam. _ ”

They paused for another moment, and then Jango heard shots. Growling, he stood and went back through the fence, slipping back through the hole they’d made and heading for the fight he could hear behind one of the tents farther up the row. A moment later, he realized Obi-Wan was just behind him.

Over the comms, Jango barked, “Get the civilians we have loaded out of here.  _ Now.  _ We’ll use our jetpacks to make our getaway, and take the rest of the  _ ade  _ with us.”

“ _ I understand, _ ” Padme said softly.

“ _ I’ll make sure we aren’t tailed back to camp, _ ” Drez offered.

“Good,” Jango said, and ducked around the tent. Peering around the corner, he saw Bo-Katan and Shiira shielding a few scared, crying children—not much older than the ones they already had in the hoversled. Glancing behind him, he saw the rest of the squad crouched down behind him and Obi-Wan. He smiled beneath his helmet; they hadn’t even had to be told to follow. He’d missed that, all those years alone as a bounty hunter, relying only on himself. He sometimes found himself forgetting to order them to follow, the habit lost after long years of fending for himself.

“The  _ ade  _ are the priority. Grab them and take off; once the  _ ade  _ are clear, Bo-Katan and Shiira will follow.”

“ _ ‘Lek, Alor. _ ”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan went stiff, his eyes glazing over for a moment, and Jango frowned, wondering what the Force was telling him now. He went pale as his eyes cleared, and he locked his gaze with Jango’s.

“He’s here,” Obi-Wan said.

“The assassin?” Jango clarified, barely stopping himself from saying  _ Sith.  _ Obi-Wan nodded, looking grim. “ _ Osik.  _ Two of you, go after Drez  _ now.  _ Cover them. We’ll deal with things here.”

“ _ ‘Lek, Alor. _ ”  _ Ka’ra,  _ he appreciated their unquestioning willingness to follow his orders right now. Sure, he might hear about this later, as he was sure they would make their displeasure known now that they realized he’d been holding intel back from them, but Jango hadn’t been about to try to explain to them that Obi-Wan had seen it in a vision. And he’d long ago given up trying to think of a way to explain what had happened to him, and how he knew about the Sith on Naboo—he’d tried to explain it three times, to three different people, and only one of them had truly believed him. He was lucky the other two hadn’t gone straight to Jaster and told him he was insane.

“I’ll go,” Obi-Wan said. Jango grimaced.

“I’m going with you. The rest of you, cover Bo-Katan and Shiira. Make sure they and the  _ ade  _ get out. Once you have them,  _ leave. Suvari? _ ”

“ _ ‘Lek, Alor. _ ” Oh, they were  _ definitely  _ unhappy with him, but for now, they would do as he said.

Jango looked back to Obi-Wan, ignoring them for now, trusting them to do what was needed. “You can sense him?” Obi-Wan nodded, determination beginning to settle around him like a well-worn cloak. Jango nodded back. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the one we've all been waiting for... Obi-Wan's POV and the Battle of Theed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments are amazing, and I love seeing how much you guys like this story with the kudos and the subscriptions too! :D
> 
> The server went down for a while at work today, so I was able to get this chapter finished!
> 
> ...and, uh, yeah, I know I said I cut the last chapter because it was getting too long, and I know that this chapter is even longer, but I just didn't want to pull another POV switch until we were past the Battle of Theed, LOL.

Obi-Wan was intimately acquainted with the particular feeling of _Darkness_ in the Force. More than that, he could easily distinguish between the deliberate use of the Dark Side, and the heavy but less purposeful Darkness that came from war and fear and hate, radiating from sentients when they were suffering. It wasn’t a skill he was _pleased_ to have gained, but it was one that, right now, he was grateful for.

He followed the _oily, cold, sharp_ feeling in the Force to the middle of the camp, grateful for the steady, almost soothing buzz of Jango’s presence behind him—not that he could sense much from Jango, with his full armor on, but it was enough to know he was there. He was… grounding, in a way Obi-Wan thought he shouldn’t find so comforting, given they had only met a matter of a few weeks ago.

Obi-Wan stopped just at the edge of one of the tents, still mostly hidden behind it, and sucked in a breath. The man was wearing a black cloak with the hood up, but even from here, even with his face mostly hidden, Obi-Wan could tell this was the same Zabrak that had been haunting his dreams for weeks now.

The one who carried a red lightstaff, and reeked of the Dark Side.

The Zabrak was perfectly still, as though waiting for them, and Obi-Wan took another deep breath, shoving as much of his _dread_ as he could into the Force, wrapping the Light around him, and stepped out of cover. The man’s head turned towards them slowly, and even with the distance still between them, Obi-Wan could see his brightly glowing yellow eyes.

The Zabrak sneered as he pushed his hood down, revealing the now-familiar black-and-red facial tattoos, and then his gaze rested on Jango. The sneer faded into a more thoughtful expression, and he nodded deeply.

“Greetings, Mandalorian,” he said. His voice was low, and gravelly—Obi-Wan hadn’t heard him speak, in any of his visions. Jango didn’t respond, simply coming to stand at Obi-Wan’s shoulder. The Zabrak tilted his head slightly. “We need not be enemies, my friend. Our peoples were once united. We could be so again.”

Jango growled, low enough that Obi-Wan didn’t think the Zabrak would have heard it, and drew his Westars, firing off a few shots in quick succession. The Zabrak dodged one, and then with a flourish, his ‘saber was in his hands, both ends ignited, the other two bolts deflected harmlessly.

No matter how many times he had seen this before in his dreams, it still felt like a punch to Obi-Wan’s gut, seeing the _red_ burst forth. He spared a moment to be grateful he hadn’t worn his cloak for his, knowing he would need to be maneuverable and loathe lose yet another one, and drew his ‘saber.

The Zabrak paused to divest himself of his own cloak, passing his ‘saber carelessly from hand to hand, deflecting the two additional shots Jango levelled at him, clearly hoping to catch him while he was distracted. The tunics he wore underneath were almost like a Jedi’s, but in stark black and reeking of the Darkness that had no doubt sunken in, and something about that made Obi-Wan’s stomach turn unpleasantly. He took another deep breath, bringing his ‘saber up in an Ataru guard.

“If that is your choice, Mandalorian, then so be it.”

With that, the Zabrak launched himself at them, using Force-enhanced speed to cross the space between them in a moment, and Obi-Wan threw himself forward to block. He gritted his teeth—the man hit _hard._ Stepping back, he disengaged his ‘saber from the Zabrak’s, and heard Jango just behind him igniting his jetpack, getting out of range of the dual-bladed ‘saber.

Jango reappeared behind the Zabrak as Obi-Wan blocked another downward strike and began firing at his back, forcing the Darksider to split his attention in two directions. Distantly, Obi-Wan was aware of the blaster fire coming from the direction Bo-Katan and Shiira were in, but forced his focus to narrow back to this fight. He would have to trust them to take care of themselves, and their charges.

Obi-Wan leapt and flipped over the Zabrak’s blade, awkwardly batting away the slash the Zabrak tried for. He grimaced—Obi-Wan knew that his ‘saber skills weren’t _bad,_ but it was rare that he’d even sparred against Jedi with lightstaffs. And he had certainly never done so before while trying to pull the Light around himself as a buffer to such cloying _Darkness._

He heard something on the commlink on his wrist, but tuned it out—Obi-Wan knew that to lose focus in this duel was to risk death. What he _couldn’t_ ignore, however, was the sudden opening of his bond with Qui-Gon, the shields between them pulled down, and a wordless, concerned question pulsing from Qui-Gon’s end.

Obi-Wan hissed as he lost focus for only a moment, allowing the Zabrak to score a hit to his upper arm—his left, at least, thankfully. Not his dominant ‘saber arm, and not terribly deep, though it throbbed and burned like hell—especially since he already _ached,_ having reached out with the Force to take on as much of the pain as he could from the three Naboo he’d known they would have to leave behind to die, making them as comfortable as possible. He siphoned the discomfort off into the Force as best he could, unable to bring himself to care that Qui-Gon felt it, the concern quickly becoming _alarm._ Unwilling to distract himself further, Obi-Wan slammed his own shields down, hoping Qui-Gon would understand the inherent message.

He and the Zabrak circled for a moment, and Obi-Wan wondered where Jango had gone, unable to see him behind the Darksider anymore, and he saw droids in his peripheral vision, approaching slowly and training their blasters on him. He grimaced—that was… less than ideal. He took another deep breath, about to step back into the fray, and—

A body slammed into his, and then he was rising into the air, away from the Zabrak. Between simple logic and the lack of any warning of danger from the Force, it took only a moment to realize that had been Jango, using his jetpack to lift them away from the camp.

“I have to go back—”

“Not now,” Jango growled. “The others are already out. We need to get back to camp.”

Obi-Wan sighed and carefully deactivated his ‘saber, reattaching it to his belt with one hand, the other still holding onto Jango’s armor, and then shifted in Jango’s grasp until he could wrap his arms around him, looking back over his shoulder, watching the camp shrink quickly into the distance as Jango headed for the treeline.

That was a powerful Darksider, and Obi-Wan knew what those beholden to the Dark did to people. He felt another thrill of _fear_ —not for himself, but for all of those people still in the camp, with that _thing_ —

“We’ll deal with him after we’ve regrouped,” Jango said, just loudly enough to be heard over the rush of wind. Obi-Wan found himself grateful they’d already done this once before, otherwise his nerves would be ten times worse. “He’s after _you._ ”

“Or the Queen,” Obi-Wan said slowly. Jango sighed roughly, as though exasperated with him.

“Getting to the Queen will be easier without _Jetiise_ in the way. He didn’t show until _you_ were there,” Jango pointed out. Obi-Wan frowned, and then sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t know _what_ to make of this. “We’ll talk about it back at camp. I’m sure the others will have questions.”

That was… not a conversation he was looking forward to. Obi-Wan thought guiltily of Qui-Gon, and how he’d simply shut him out, and he _knew_ his Master was worried, and he should reopen the bond to reassure him, but… He clenched his jaw, and decided he’d rather deal with a worried Master than a disappointed one—and Qui-Gon _would_ be disappointed, if he felt the present turmoil of Obi-Wan’s emotions.

Jango didn’t take them directly back to the ship, instead zooming through the trees expertly, but finally, they made it back. Just as before, he gently lowered them to the ground, waiting until Obi-Wan was steady on his own feet before letting go and stepping away, many of the others already approaching them, crowding around, which made Obi-Wan tense further, feeling cornered. Jango stepped back up to him, not quite touching him, but standing so close behind him that Obi-Wan could feel the heat radiating from him, even through his armor.

He saw Qui-Gon making his way through the crowd of concerned Mandalorians and frowned, bracing himself for a lecture, but Qui-Gon merely stepped forward and eyed him critically.

“Are you injured?” he asked briskly, eyeing him. Obi-Wan pursed his lips and shrugged.

“I’m fine.”

“He needs bacta,” Jango said, and Obi-Wan half turned to him, glaring. That _traitor._

“I’m _fine_ —”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Jango growled, and took hold of his uninjured right arm. Louder, he added, “We’ll debrief after we’re all seen to. Give us twenty minutes, tops.”

The Mandalorians were clearly unhappy about that, from the grumbling Obi-Wan could hear, but allowed Jango to pass, pulling Obi-Wan along with him. Qui-Gon fell into step easily.

“What happened?” Qui-Gon asked flatly.

Wanting to avoid Qui-Gon’s question and Jango’s rather surprising _fussing,_ Obi-Wan protested, “I truly _am_ fine, Jango. This is entirely unnecessary—”

Jango growled again, wordlessly this time; Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head as he realized that he would not be getting his way this time. Bacta seemed excessive, for the small wound he’d gotten. It _did_ hurt, and would probably scar, with or without bacta, but it wasn’t anything _major._ He’d healed from worse without any sort of treatment before.

“Padawan—”

“Leave it, Jinn,” Jango barked. Qui-Gon stiffened, stopping in his tracks, glaring at Jango, who also stopped, and then softened somewhat. “Give us a minute.” Qui-Gon continued to glare at him for a long moment, and then glanced at Obi-Wan, who looked away, not wanting to see the reproach he knew he would in those familiar eyes. Qui-Gon finally sighed and took a step back.

That was… interesting. Qui-Gon _never_ backed down, not that Obi-Wan had ever seen.

“I will allow you some time to gather your thoughts, but I _will_ be helping see to his injuries,” Qui-Gon insisted. Jango grunted an acknowledgement, and they all began walking again, Jango steering them to the ship’s medbay.

...or not. Obi-Wan frowned as they passed the turn for the medbay, going down a short hallway he hadn’t been down before. Stopping before an unmarked door, Jango punched in an access code—Qui-Gon politely looking away, though Obi-Wan didn’t think he could have focused on that enough to remember it even if he tried, at that moment—and pushed him into the room gently.

These must be Jango’s quarters, Obi-Wan realized slowly. The room wasn’t exactly large, but it was spacious enough for a single occupant’s bed, footlocker, and a shelving unit. The shelves in particular drew Obi-Wan’s attention; there were a few holos there, one of a happy-looking family, all darker-skinned with black, curly hair, like Jango, and another of Jango in his armor, standing beside an older man with lighter skin and a crooked nose, both of them smiling proudly, both of them holding their helmets under their arms; the man had an arm thrown around Jango’s shoulders—was that the _Mand’alor,_ perhaps? He knew Jango had been adopted—

“Sit,” Jango ordered gruffly, pushing him—again so _gently,_ and _really,_ Obi-Wan wouldn’t _break_ —towards the bed. Obi-Wan obediently sat, uncertain what else to do. Jango eyed him for a moment before turning back to Qui-Gon. “Make sure he stays there.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and Jango moved off towards another door, probably an attached ‘fresher. Qui-Gon crouched down in front of him slowly, as though he would startle if he moved too quickly, and Obi-Wan pursed his lips, biting down on a protest that he wasn’t _fragile._

Because he certainly was acting like he was, wasn’t he?

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice pitched lower, gentler, than it usually was. Obi-Wan nodded, a bit of fond exasperation sparking at that.

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon’s gaze once again roamed over his body, and he stiffened as he saw the burn on Obi-Wan’s arm, no doubt recognizing it for what it was.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said again, finding that it was all he could say. Thankfully, Jango returned quickly, holding a medkit. He set that down on the bed and then moved around Qui-Gon to open the footlocker, bringing out a bottle of _tihaar._ He handed it to Obi-Wan, who simply blinked at it for a moment. Jango scoffed.

“Drink,” he ordered. Qui-Gon frowned, but Obi-Wan moved to obey, taking two long drinks straight from the bottle before handing it back. Jango nodded, and then glanced at Qui-Gon. “We’re saving the painkillers, if we can.”

Qui-Gon slowly nodded, but otherwise remained still, crouched down before Obi-Wan. It was strange, Obi-Wan thought as Jango settled himself onto the bed beside him to see to his arm, to look _down_ at Qui-Gon rather than _up,_ and to see nothing in Qui-Gon’s eyes other than _concern._

They didn’t speak as Jango divested himself of his vambraces and gloves before carefully starting to pull away the bits of his tunics that had been seared into his skin. Obi-Wan grimaced and reached for the Force, letting that and the alcohol in his system dull the pain as best he could.

It was a relief when Jango slathered the wound in bacta—far more than it really needed, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, especially since he didn’t think it needed bacta in the first place—with the cool, slightly sticky substance a welcome balm to the pulsing heat of the burn. With just as much care—almost tenderness, in fact; how odd—Jango wrapped a bandage around it, and then sat back.

They remained silent for only a few moments more, and then Obi-Wan sighed. He would prefer to meditate before talking about this, but it seemed that time was of the essence. He closed his eyes.

“There was—”

“I’ll just show him,” Jango said stiffly. Obi-Wan reopened his eyes, frowning curiously at Jango, who finally reached up to take off his helmet, and tapped the top of it. “Recordings. Like the ones we gave the Naboo.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips again and nodded, looking down at his hands, folded tightly together in his lap. Jango rose again, Qui-Gon not even bothering to track his movements as he usually did with Jango, instead continuing to stare at Obi-Wan, who stubbornly refused to look back.

“Here.” Jango returned, holding out a datapad to Qui-Gon, who took it slowly and stared at it. Obi-Wan let his eyes fall shut once more, listening to the video play.

“ _...we need not be enemies, my friend. Our peoples were once united. We could be so again._ ” He flinched at the shocked disbelief he felt from Qui-Gon, and then forced himself to breathe. He reached for the Force, making sure his shields smothering the bond were still up, and sank himself into a light, near-meditative trance. He felt his lips twitch in another frown as he felt Qui-Gon’s own strong emotions clouding the Force, and instead focused on Jango.

Without his helmet on, and standing so close to him, just beside the bed, it was so much easier for Obi-Wan to pick up on the sense of him in the Force. As ever, he felt… steady. Not quite _calm,_ not now, but there wasn’t any shock or anger or panic, only a sense of grim determination. Obi-Wan skirted the edges of his presence in the Force until he felt a hand on his wrist, and opened his eyes.

Qui-Gon was staring at him, looking solemn, and then his lips twitched in a smile. “You did well, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him, but didn’t have a chance to say anything as Jango cut in. “This is going to complicate our plans.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, his gaze lingering on Obi-Wan still. He turned to Jango to escape the intensity of his Master’s _look._

“We should move camp, or make our move tomorrow,” Obi-Wan sighed, reaching up to tug a hand through his hair, grimacing faintly at the unpleasant feel of it—he needed a shower rather desperately. “A… Force-user would certainly be able to find us, sooner rather than later, I think. It isn’t as if we can shield the entire camp from him.”

Jango frowned. “Scouts reported in; he went back to Theed without even trying to follow us here. I think he wants to bait us.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes again at that, remembering the catwalks, the red forcefields, Qui-Gon baited into running ahead—

Jango sighed, the noise pulling him back to himself, and Obi-Wan pried his eyes open slowly, still refusing to look at Qui-Gon. “You need to rest.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I need to meditate.”

Jango stared at him for a long moment, and Obi-Wan was a bit surprised that Qui-Gon didn’t have anything to say, but Jango finally nodded. “You can shower in there, if you want,” he offered, waving a hand vaguely towards the ‘fresher. Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, managing a small smile for him; that was much preferable to the communal shower, right now. He certainly did not want to deal with anyone else yet. “I’ll find another tunic or shirt for you. And you can meditate here, too, if you want. No one will bother you.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said politely. Jango nodded and turned to Jinn.

“We should tell the others,” he said. Qui-Gon hesitated, and Obi-Wan could feel his eyes on him, but stubbornly kept his own eyes on Jango.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. He gently squeezed one of Obi-Wan’s wrists, and then they left together.

Obi-Wan watched them go, and then exhaled shakily. He scrubbed a hand over his face before standing. No doubt he would feel better—or at least more human—after a shower.

* * *

The shirt that Jango had laid out for him—the only part of his clothing Obi-Wan needed to replace, at least until he could find a needle and thread to repair his tunics—was dark green, soft, and comfortably worn-in. It was a bit too large in the shoulders for him, but that was to be expected, as Jango was built far more solidly than he was. He pulled his own leggings back on, eyeing his tabards and belt before deciding to leave them there, for now. His ‘saber was close enough, resting only a few feet away on the bed.

Obi-Wan sank to his knees on the floor, bowing his head as he closed his eyes and reached out for the Force again. It was still tainted by Darkness, but that was to be expected, with the Zabrak so close, in Theed, only a few kliks away from them—

He took a deep breath and let the fear go. Obi-Wan had known this was coming, after all. And he wasn’t afraid for _himself._

It was Qui-Gon, after all, that he saw run through with the Zabrak’s lightstaff every night. Not himself.

“ _Train the boy,_ ” Qui-Gon rasped, reaching up to touch his face with two fingers. Their bond pulsed with Qui-Gon’s pain, but also his pride in Obi-Wan, and some sense of desperation mingled with hope. “ _He is the Chosen One. He will bring balance._ ”

 _What_ boy, though? _Who_ was the Chosen One? And why would Qui-Gon demand that _he_ take the boy on as a Padawan? He wasn’t even a Knight yet, and he was _twenty._ It… simply wasn’t _done._

And Obi-Wan had looked into the prophecy, before they left Coruscant for this mission, when the dreams first began. It didn’t help.

And now… He had _tried_ to cast off the visions, he had _tried_ to focus on the present, but—

But the Zabrak from his visions was in the _here and now,_ and all signs pointed to him being a _Sith._

Not that Obi-Wan was panicking about that, though, frankly, he thought he should be. No, his focus was on that image replayed to him every karking night for the last _three weeks,_ his Master run clean through by a red ‘saber, while he was stuck behind the red energy field—

 _Please,_ Obi-Wan pleaded with the Force, though he knew that praying this way was childish, and did nothing, as whatever happened would be the Will of the Force anyway. _Please, just give me enough strength to save him. If you have to take me to do it_ —the Force itself seemed to _hiss_ in displeasure at that thought, but Obi-Wan continued, undaunted, having long since made peace with his own death— _then I will accept that. But please, let him live._

The Light twisted itself around him in comfort, though it gave no answer, at least not in words he could understand. It never did.

* * *

Obi-Wan knew he’d been rather long in meditation, but he was grateful for it as he rose, feeling steadier already. He didn’t bother with his tabards and obi, instead wrapping his belt around his waist and reclipping his ‘saber to it, the crystal humming low in satisfaction at being carried again. His lips twitched in a smile as he patted his ‘saber absently.

Gathering his clothes, he made his way out of Jango’s room—the ship was already dark, and he knew it must be early in the morning already. A good meditation refreshed him as much as a night of sleep, thankfully, so long as he didn’t keep that up for weeks on end.

Mercifully, he did not see anyone on his way back to the bunk he had resumed sharing with Qui-Gon. He frowned as he approached the room, sensing that Qui-Gon wasn’t inside. Shrugging, he threw his clothes onto his bunk and made for the galley. He could do with a cup of _shig._

That was where Qui-Gon was, he realized as he grew closer. He paused, uncertain if he wanted to have this conversation now or not, and sighed as he felt Qui-Gon brush gently against his shields. He’d been caught.

Well, there was nothing for it. Obi-Wan strode into the galley, fixing a small smile on his face. Qui-Gon was sitting at a table with Padme and Jango. Obi-Wan probed the Force carefully, and there was certainly tension, but it didn’t feel as though they’d been arguing, only unsettled by their current circumstances. He relaxed slightly and went to sit with them, taking the open seat beside Padme, across from Qui-Gon.

“Are you alright?” Padme asked, looking weary and concerned. Obi-Wan nodded at her.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he assured her. “It was a minor burn.”

She frowned at him, but nodded slowly back. “We were discussing tomorrow’s plans.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand, sinking back in his seat and wishing he could tuck his hands into the sleeves of his cloak, but he’d forgotten to grab it when he stopped by their bunk. Instead, he clasped his hands in front of him, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the table, waiting for them to begin.

“You three start. I’ll be back,” Jango said, sliding out of his seat and heading for the galley proper. Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan for a moment, and this time, he met his Master’s gaze and nodded. Qui-Gon’s lips twitched in a smile, and he nodded back.

“The other Mandalorian ship will arrive just before dawn,” Qui-Gon said. “We want to move as soon as they arrive in orbit, though it will leave us with little time to coordinate with the Gungans as we had hoped to.”

“Myles and Silas have gone with Jar Jar to speak to them now,” Padme added. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at her, another smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m surprised the Queen did not go with them,” Obi-Wan said. Padme sighed and frowned.

“After tonight, without knowing more about this assassin, we all agreed that it was best to stay with the others, though the Queen did record a message for them,” Padme murmured. Obi-Wan nodded, the smile slipping from his face. Qui-Gon frowned along with him. “We will head to Theed first thing in the morning. If we can’t get the Gungans’ agreement to help us, or they are unable to mobilize that quickly, then Jango agreed to leave two squads outside the city proper, to try to draw at least some of the fire away from us while we infiltrate the capital.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, and Jango returned, carrying a bowl of stew—probably more _tiingilar_ —and a glass of milk. He set them down on the table and slid them over to Obi-Wan before sitting back down. Obi-Wan blinked at it, and then at Jango, who raised an eyebrow.

“Eat,” he ordered. Obi-Wan sighed, but then politely smiled in thanks and began to eat slowly, though he wasn’t terribly hungry. He’d rather lost his appetite lately, first with the visions, and now… the reality of it all.

“You should get some sleep,” Jango sighed at Padme, who looked doubtful. “Or at least rest. We only have a few hours before we’ll need to move.”

Padme sighed and nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. Goodnight.” She stood slowly, and then looked back at Obi-Wan, smiling gently at him. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, smiling back. She nodded and left quietly.

Obi-Wan felt both Jango and Qui-Gon looking at him, and he managed only a few more bites of the stew before he pushed it away. Jango frowned at that, but Qui-Gon was impassive as ever, now. There was a long moment of silence, and then Obi-Wan turned to Jango.

“Thank you,” he said again. “I do feel much better now.”

Jango simply nodded, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. Qui-Gon glanced at Jango, who raised an eyebrow back. Qui-Gon sighed, and Obi-Wan frowned, wondering what that was about—

“Jango told me about the vision you had,” Qui-Gon said softly. Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted. This conversation was likely to be… unpleasant. “I understand why you didn’t tell me.” Obi-Wan looked up from where his gaze had wandered back down, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes with a frown. “Is there anything else you saw that might reveal anything further?”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “No. I learned more tonight than I did from any of the visions.”

Qui-Gon frowned himself, at that, and Obi-Wan realized his mistake as soon as he’d said it. “How often have you had this vision?”

Obi-Wan glanced away, looking back down at the table. “Every night for the last… four weeks or so.”

“...I see.”

They sat in silence for another long moment, and then Obi-Wan forced himself to look back up. “Just… please, don’t let him separate us, or rush ahead.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “I shall do my best not to.”

Knowing that was all he was going to get as far as promises went, Obi-Wan smiled tightly. He looked to Jango, who met his gaze for a long moment, and Obi-Wan didn’t doubt that he understood Obi-Wan’s silent plea.

_Watch out for him. Please._

Slowly, Jango nodded, and Obi-Wan’s smile grew a bit more genuine.

* * *

Dawn came bright and early, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both left their bunks without having slept at all. He thought Qui-Gon might have been meditating, from the particular way the Force curled around him, but he may have just been brooding again.

Bo-Katan met them, looking almost… excited. But, then, she _was_ a Mandalorian, and she in particular seemed to relish battle.

“We’re leaving one half-squad with the ship, along with our pilot,” she said. “Silas and Myles managed it, last night, and got the Gungans’ agreement to help. Apparently, they’ve already been hitting the Federation hard, where they’ve tried to expand out of Theed and the surrounding area. Guerrilla attacks. They’ve agreed to hit them a bit closer to the city, near the fields, to draw the droids away from us. The rest of us will split to cover the pilots and the Queen and her handmaidens.”

“A fine plan,” Qui-Gon said, nodding to her. “I am pleased that the Gungans agreed to assist us.”

“You and me both, _Jetii,_ ” Bo-Katan said, giving them a sharp smile. “It’s going to be a free-for-all out there. Good hunting.” She clapped Qui-Gon on the arm, and Obi-Wan smiled at the look of bemusement on his face. Bo-Katan laughed and turned on her heel, jamming her helmet over her head as she walked away.

“I think you may have made a friend, Master,” Obi-Wan joked. Qui-Gon looked down his nose at him haughtily, raising an eyebrow, but his eyes were sparkling with good humor. Obi-Wan laughed and shook his head, heading back to the galley, where meetings were always held.

Most were already gone, assembled into their squads already, but Jango, the Queen, and her handmaidens were still there when they approached.

“Oh, Master Jedi!” Eirtee called to him. Obi-Wan stopped and smiled at her, and she smiled back a bit shyly. “I managed to mend your tunics for you.” She held them out to him, and he blinked at her before accepting them.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said. She smiled at him, and he reflexively smiled back.

“It was the least we could do,” she answered. He nodded to her again, not even sure how to respond to that, as he’d done nothing, really, besides get himself injured, and turned back to the others.

“I’m not sure I like this plan,” Captain Panaka was saying, looking rather dour. Jango raised an eyebrow.

“Do you have an alternative?” he asked blandly. They stared each other down for a moment, and then Panaka sighed. Several of the handmaidens moved slightly, no doubt using their discreet signal system. Obi-Wan had, of course, picked up on it, but had not yet been able to decipher the meanings of their various gestures.

“I agree that this is the best course of action,” the Queen agreed, nodding firmly.

“...alright,” Panaka said. “Fine.”

“What plan is this?” Qui-Gon asked.

“We’ll fly them into Theed with our jetpacks,” Jango explained. “We’ll have squads form up around us, to provide cover until we hit the ground. They’ll split off and help the Gungans around Theed. We’ll split there, too; half of us with the Queen’s party, the other half with the pilots.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, clearly integrating that into what they had planned the night before. He nodded. “A fine plan. Though that does raise the question of how we will reach Theed. Perhaps one of the speeders…”

Jango raised an eyebrow, looking at Qui-Gon as though he were very dull. Obi-Wan had to bite back a laugh, already knowing what he would say. “You’ll get there the same way they are.”

Qui-Gon frowned, and Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ve done this twice now, Master. It will be fine.”

“I am rather larger than you, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, “and far larger than any of the handmaidens.”

“Which is why you’ll go with Pol,” Jango said, a smirk tugging at his face.

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, apparently unable to find any other reply. Obi-Wan did laugh at that—Pol Vizla—not Vizsla, apparently the s was an important distinction between Clans—was an absolute giant of a man. He was Creed-bound, what Obi-Wan had learned the _Ru’Resol’nar’ade_ were called, and so never removed his helmet, and though he had five fingers, Obi-Wan would not have been surprised to find that he was not at all human. He was nearly as tall as Qui-Gon, but far stockier. Truthfully, he looked like a brute, although Obi-Wan had had several conversations with him, and he was a quick wit with a sharp tongue that Obi-Wan appreciated. Qui-Gon’s opinion on the man, however…

“A good choice,” Obi-Wan said, well aware that he sounded a bit smug. Qui-Gon shot him a hard look, but softened at the playful grin on Obi-Wan’s face, simply shaking his head.

“Very well,” Qui-Gon sighed.

“That’s the spirit, Master Jedi,” Eirtee said, reaching out to pat his arm. He only sighed again.

* * *

Obi-Wan had barely had enough time to change back into his tunics before they met outside the ship with the rest of the squads, but he was grateful to have them. It was hardly armor, though he thought he might feel the same about his tunics, tabards, and obi as the Mandalorians all did about their armor. It was just as much a signifier of what he was as their armor was for them, after all. Well, that and the lightsaber at his hip.

The handmaidens were already paired off with their Mandalorian escorts, and as soon as they walked out, Pol made straight for Qui-Gon, who pasted a diplomatic smile on his face.

“This’ll be fun, won’t it, _Jetii?_ ” he asked eagerly. Obi-Wan laughed brightly as Qui-Gon nodded stiffly.

“I’m sure.”

Pol snorted and clapped his arm. “Good man. And you, _Jeti’ika?_ You ready?”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to scowl and instead bowed his head, keeping his expression placid, knowing that that was a thinly-veiled inquiry as to his injury. “Quite.”

Pol nodded slowly. “Well, go on, then.”

“And who will be lugging me around?” he asked playfully, and Pol tilted his head, and then waved a hand to the side—ah. Jango. He would have thought that Jango would take the Queen, but it looked as though Myles had her instead. He smiled as he saw Bo-Katan with Padme—it wouldn’t surprise him if those two kept in touch, after all of this. They certainly made an interesting pair.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, nodding seriously to him.

“And also with you, Master,” he returned easily, smiling at him easily. This part was fine. This would be easy enough—none of _this_ had been in his vision, after all.

“No need to be so dramatic about it. You'll be on the same side of the fields in a few minutes,” Pol grunted. Obi-Wan snorted and shook his head before starting towards Jango, who nodded at him.

“Everyone ready?” Jango asked.

“ _Oya!_ ” the Mandalorians all cried as one. Jango nodded.

“ _K’oyacyi, vod’e,_ ” he said, and then looked back to Obi-Wan, holding his arms out just as he had before. Obi-Wan managed not to blush, this time, and instead simply nodded as he wrapped his arms around Jango’s neck.

“Don’t drop me,” he teased. Jango snorted.

“When have I ever?”

“We’ve only done this _twice,_ ” he pointed out. “And we were only under fire one of those times.”

“What happened to ‘I’ve done this twice, it’ll be fine?’” Jango shot back. Obi-Wan simply laughed. Jango huffed in return, and then they were in the air.

* * *

It was a matter of only a few minutes to cross the fields with the jetpacks, and the Mandalorians flew high enough to avoid most of the fire from the droids guarding the camps. It wasn’t until they had nearly reached Theed and would need to descend that they began taking heavier fire.

Obi-Wan glanced around at the others, an idea coming to him. “Can you flip us and take us lower?”

“Why?” Jango asked.

“I can deflect some of the fire with my ‘saber,” Obi-Wan explained. “And you can’t exactly fire back right now.” Jango hesitated, and then sighed.

“Fine,” he agreed, guiding them lower. Once he was near the bottom of the formation rather than the well-protected middle, Obi-Wan wrapped his legs around Jango’s waist and took one hand off of him, reaching for his ‘saber. It was a rather… intimate position, but Obi-Wan refused to think about that, not when he needed to focus.

“Now,” he said, and then Jango twirled them around, his back now to the ground, and Obi-Wan looking over his shoulder. Their group began circling, trying to whittle down the troops near the palace hangar with each pass, and shooting at the droids guarding the Nubian fighters in the open hangar. Obi-Wan began focusing on the droids in the hangar, deflecting their bolts back at them. It was more difficult than he had expected to aim accurately while Jango was flying, but he suspected that with more practice and familiarity with a jetpack, he could make it a more productive exercise. As it was, he managed to hit a fair few, though he left the droidekas to the Mandalorians.

He grimaced as he felt another bolt of _alarm_ from Qui-Gon, who had no doubt just realized that he was no longer beside him.

 _I’m fine, Master,_ he sent along the bond. _Down below. I’m just deflecting fire._

 _...how?_ Qui-Gon returned somewhat grumpily, no doubt wanting to help. Obi-Wan laughed at the mental image of Qui-Gon with his legs wrapped around Pol—if they would even reach all the way around the man—and Jango grunted. Obi-Wan shook his head and continued deflecting the bolts even as he sheepishly sent back an impression of how he’d positioned himself.

 _...that is very undignified, Padawan,_ Qui-Gon returned, and his mental projection sounded like he was sighing. Obi-Wan wondered when Qui-Gon had begun caring about things like his Padawan’s dignity. _But a good idea._

Obi-Wan snorted at that, and then the Mandalorians managed to mostly clear the hangar for them, and they came in to land. Obi-Wan remained in the position he was in when Jango turned them, now ready to deflect any fire from the other direction, and then—

They were on the ground already. Obi-Wan felt his face heat, wondering how long Jango had been standing there with Obi-Wan wrapped around him, too immersed in the Force, trying to sense any incoming shots, to notice that they had landed. He quickly set himself down, and only when both of his feet were on the ground did Jango let go of him. Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon behind him, but resolutely did not turn to look at him.

“We’ve gotten all the droids taken care of in the hangar,” Myles reported cheerfully. “Pilots, to your ships! We’ll help cover you when you take off. We spotted cannons on the way in, so watch yourselves.”

“You heard him!” one of the pilots cried, and they all jumped into action. Obi-Wan caught sight of the brave little droid who had saved the Queen’s ship during their escape, R2-D2, quickly following after that pilot in particular, likely approving of his enthusiasm. He didn’t understand much binary, but all of the Mandalorians had translations come up on their HUDs, and had been more than happy to relay the terribly foul language the droid often used. It seemed very opinionated, for a droid.

Obi-Wan was pulled from his thoughts as he sensed _it_ —the chill that fell over the hangar, the heavy feeling of the Dark Side. He glanced at Qui-Gon who nodded. He sensed it too. And the Zabrak felt _close_ —

The doors to the main palace opened, and Obi-Wan forced himself to _breathe._

Qui-Gon stepped forward. “We’ll handle this.”

“We’ll take the long way,” Padme said decisively, leading her group off to the side. Obi-Wan heard the fighters taking off around him, but he was aware of nothing, now, except for the Zabrak in front of him—

Again, Obi-Wan was glad that he had left his cloak back on the ship as Qui-Gon dropped his to the ground. In unison, they ignited their ‘sabers. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw movement, and turned to glance at it—he smiled as he realized it was Jango, standing with him again.

He turned back to the Zabrak, who had thrown his cloak to the ground as well, holding his ‘saber straight out in front of him, and then both ends ignited with red—

Even though Qui-Gon had seen it on the recording Jango had shown him, he still radiated shock in the Force for a moment. A grim look overtook his features; he raised his blade, stepped forward, and the dance began.

Jango was in the air again, though he was firing from just above and slightly behind them, this time; he was forced to stop firing entirely for a moment as Qui-Gon flipped over the Zabrak, again forcing him to divide his attention between two fronts, and Obi-Wan felt another flutter of _dread,_ because the Zabrak, for all that he was wedged between the two of them, was purposefully driving Qui-Gon back, and baiting Obi-Wan forward—

And then they were in the reactor room, crossing a catwalk, and Obi-Wan felt like all of the air in the room had suddenly vanished, and he couldn’t _breathe,_ because this was precisely how he’d seen it—

In his distraction, the Zabrak managed to kick him in the face, catching him squarely in the nose. Obi-Wan focused on trying to control his fall and trying—and failing, he noted ruefully—to keep hold of his ‘saber through the stars in his vision, landing hard on a lower platform, knocking the wind out of him, his lightsaber skittering to land a few feet away from him. He barely managed to grab the edge of the platform as he rolled with the poorly controlled momentum from his fall; he blinked for a moment to clear his vision, and then hauled himself up, grabbing his ‘saber as he went. He spared a brief moment to glance up at the higher platforms, feeling his head pounding, adrenalin already in full surge. Bringing the Force to bear, Obi-Wan _jumped,_ landing one level higher.

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched as he realized they were still another level above him; just as he was about to leap again, he felt hands wrap around him, and the now-familiar roar of a jetpack, barely audible over his pulse thumping in his ears.

“Thank you,” he said.

“ _N’entye,_ ” Jango returned, setting him down on the platform without stopping, using his jetpack to reach Qui-Gon faster than Obi-Wan would. He frowned, wondering why Jango hadn’t simply taken him further, but discarded that quickly. He needed to focus.

...and then they were at those damned red energy gates, and Obi-Wan’s breathing quickened, and it wasn’t from running.

He knew this hallway. He knew it too damn well already.

 _Don’t run ahead!_ Obi-Wan shouted down the bond, and Qui-Gon froze. Obi-Wan kept running, _almost_ catching up to Qui-Gon, and he paused as he saw Jango jet by again, _slamming_ into the Zabrak and causing them both to roll down the hall. They separated quickly, and then the barriers snapped into place.

Obi-Wan was three gates away from Qui-Gon, who knelt down to rest and commune with the Force for a moment, drawing as much energy as he could during this brief reprieve; the Zabrak was beside the melting pit, already stalking back and forth, prodding at the wall with his ‘saber every few seconds, making it spark; Jango was only one gate away from the Zabrak.

Slowly, Jango holstered his Westars, and Obi-Wan frowned, wondering what he was doing. The Zabrak paused, tilting his head.

“Are you prepared to be reasonable now, Mandalorian?” he asked. Jango chuckled dryly.

“That depends on your definition of ‘reasonable,’” he said slowly. The Zabrak smiled, an ugly expression that almost looked like a silent snarl. Obi-Wan bristled.

“You have no reason to ally yourself with the Jedi,” the Zabrak said evenly. “Who was it, after all, who tore apart your planet, forcing you to live in those artificial domes?”

“You’re allied with the Trade Federation,” Jango said flatly, tilting his head. “Why would I have any interest in allying myself with you, either?”

The Zabrak hummed. “ _Cuyi narudar,_ ” he said slowly. “ _Ni kar’tyl Mando’a. A’Jetiise…?_ ”

“ _...mhi jorhaa'i._ ”

“ _Ori’jate,_ ” the Zabrak said, and Obi-Wan’s stomach sank, because he knew what that meant. But, no—Jango wouldn’t turn on them. The Force itself had prompted Obi-Wan to trust him, and for all that Jango was practically buzzing with warnings of danger, none of them were directed at _him._

The walls began to separate, the one separating those two first, and even as Obi-Wan prepared to run as soon as the gate before him released, he kept an eye on Jango, who was reaching out to take the Zabrak’s hand, the Darksider having taken one hand off his ‘saber—

Obi-Wan almost didn’t start running when the gate opened, because he was distracted by Jango suddenly _pulling_ the Zabrak and headbutting him. The Zabrak stumbled back slightly, but Jango gave chase, and—

He was fighting what was probably a _Sith_ with his _bare kriffing hands._ And it looked like he was _winning_ —he got fierce blows in to the Zabrak’s kidneys before _kicking_ at his knee. The Zabrak howled and then threw out one arm—Jango flew back and lifted into the air, but it wasn’t his jetpack, this time. It was the Zabrak, and as Jango reached up towards his throat, Obi-Wan knew with sickly certainty what the Zabrak was doing—

He had run flat out, straight ahead, watching it all unfold, and _still,_ he hadn’t made it. Even with the decrease in distance between him and Qui-Gon, he hadn’t been able to make it. And now Qui-Gon was near the melting pit with the Zabrak. Without Obi-Wan.

Just like in those _karking visions._

Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe as he watched the Zabrak release his hold on Jango, tossing him carelessly aside in favor of reigniting his ‘saber and bringing it up to block Qui-Gon’s strikes. They traded blows, dancing around the pit, and Obi-Wan was helpless but to watch as this played out exactly like his vision—

And it did, right up to that awful, familiar moment when the Zabrak brought his ‘saber hilt up to bash Qui-Gon’s face, and Qui-Gon stood there, frozen, with his ‘saber held uselessly above his head—and Obi-Wan _knew_ that that had been a desperate move anyway, and that Qui-Gon was not _old,_ but he did tire more quickly now than he used to, and—

And then the Zabrak screamed again, and Qui-Gon let out a gasp as the red ‘saber _sliced_ across the side of his stomach, which was _different,_ but even so, he might have still screamed, he couldn’t hear anything anymore, the world going suddenly silent—and then the Zabrak fell, momentarily clutching at the knee Jango had kicked.

And had, apparently, just kicked again. He was still lying on the ground where the Zabrak had thrown him, but he was stirring, getting up—

And the fields were coming down, and Obi-Wan _ran_ straight for the Zabrak, who _did_ audibly snarl at that and used the Force to push him back; Obi-Wan skidded, not completely thrown by it, but it was enough that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to make it through the last gate now— _no,_ he had been so _close,_ he couldn’t leave them there alone—

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Jango grab Qui-Gon and power up his jetpack again; the Zabrak tried to pull them back, and Obi-Wan sent a push of his own, slamming the Zabrak back into the wall. He skidded to a stop just before the red wall—the last separating him from the Zabrak now, and finally registered Jango and Qui-Gon overhead.

Jango managed—barely—to get him past most of the walls, putting a good amount of distance between them and the Zabrak. Obi-Wan, secure behind the gate, turned fully to them, inspecting Qui-Gon.

It… didn’t look good. Even from here, Obi-Wan could tell that his breathing was ragged, and there was a great burnt swathe across his stomach, and Jango knelt beside him, but… Jango’s eyes were locked on him.

Obi-Wan frowned. Jango could make it through the gates to him, to resume the fight against the Zabrak—unless he could Force choke the both of them, then at least one should be able to distract him enough that he wouldn’t be able to get much of an upperhand, and wasn’t it Obi-Wan who had asked Qui-Gon to wait?

He reached for the Force, letting the Light focus him, buffeting him against the Zabrak, and he looked back at Qui-Gon, who, he could see, already had the waxy sheen of someone whose body was barely fighting to live.

Obi-Wan looked back at Jango and slowly shook his head. Jango was perfectly still for a moment, and then he nodded, and turned his attention to Qui-Gon, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt for something.

It would have to be enough. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, closed his eyes for only a moment, and then turned as the gate opened.

The Zabrak was wounded, but that only seemed to enrage him, and Obi-Wan knew that anger would give him power, feeding into the Dark Side he drew on. His mind flashed back to their brief fight in the camp—was he going to be able to kill him? It didn’t matter.

He would have to be enough. If Jango left Qui-Gon’s side, then Qui-Gon would die. He might die anyway, Obi-Wan knew, but at least now, he had a _chance._

So Obi-Wan alone would have to be enough. _Please, Force, give me strength enough for this,_ he prayed. This time, he felt the Force respond, flowing more easily to him, and he struck at the Zabrak with renewed energy.

He would _not_ let him kill Qui-Gon, or any of the other people here, for that matter, he _wouldn’t,_ he _had to be enough_ — All of this anger and desperation, he realized, was feeding the Zabrak’s connection to the Dark Side, increasing his power, and he stumbled as the Zabrak kicked him again, but he did not fall, this time. Obi-Wan didn’t want to open himself so fully to the Force in such close proximity to a powerful Darksider, but he had no choice, and brought down all but a few of the walls he had built in the creche to help him control his connection to the Force—

Then, for the first time in his life, the Force spoke to him in actual words: _Peace, child. Be at peace._

Just like that, the anger, the fear, the pain Qui-Gon had been echoing down their bond—it was all gone, and all that existed was the Force, and the ‘saber in his hands, and the man in front of him. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and _struck_ down, and he knew without looking that he had severed one of the blades, though the Zabrak still had one.

He didn’t open his eyes as they circled the pit, trading blows, allowing the Force and instinct alone to guide his ‘saber, and then he sensed his opening—

Obi-Wan slashed, and opened his eyes to watch the Zabrak’s head topple to the floor, his body crumpling beside it. He breathed out raggedly and looked desperately to Qui-Gon and Jango, hiccuping a not-quite-sob as he realized that Jango was still tending to him.

That meant he was alive.

The gates opened again, and Obi-Wan didn’t make it very far, the adrenalin in his body no longer enough to counter the abuse his body had taken—his ribs were probably bruised, if not broken, he realized distantly. That explained why his breathing had been off since the fall.

He did make it to the last gate before them, close enough to be heard when he spoke, at least—

“How…” Obi-Wan trailed off and licked his lips; Jango did not look up from Qui-Gon’s stomach. He had peeled his tunics back and started applying bacta and bandages to the area. “What are his chances?”

“I’m not a medic,” Jango said flatly. Obi-Wan winced.

“I understand. I would still appreciate your assessment.”

Jango huffed and shook his head, still not looking up from Qui-Gon as he picked up his arm and felt the pulse at his wrist, carefully timing it for a moment. “Given the wound alone,” Jango said flatly, “I would say about 30%. But I convinced him to go into one of your trances, and I don’t know how that would affect the odds.”

Relief started to filter through Obi-Wan. He could work with that. He had beaten worse odds himself before, and Qui-Gon was a karking _Master._ He would be strong enough.

And Obi-Wan could help, if the Force would lend him its strength just a _bit_ longer.

The gate opened, and Obi-Wan rushed to Qui-Gon’s side. He grabbed the hand Jango wasn’t holding and looked at the Mandalorian for a moment. Jango finally looked up at him, and Obi-Wan smiled tightly.

“Thank you for seeing to him,” he began, but barreled on before Jango could respond. “I’m going to lend him as much of my energy as I can.”

“What does that mean?” Jango asked, but Obi-Wan didn’t reply, already closing his eyes and channeling energy down the bond.

The world around him grew fainter, and he thought Jango was saying something, but Obi-Wan poured his entire focus into the bond, and the Force, and let his own sense of self start to fade away—he was nothing more than a conduit for the Force’s endless energy, and he thought he could see, for a moment, the shimmering green that was always how he’d envisioned Qui-Gon’s soul, when he was younger, and the flickering color began to steady, even as his own blue began to dim, and—

Obi-Wan felt himself slump over, body hitting the ground beside Qui-Gon. His last conscious thought that was that he’d reached too far, this time, and then there was only black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with how Obi-Wan came out, TBH. I was trying to capture that at this point in his life, he was very skilled, but still insecure, which I always thought was why Qui-Gon hadn't nominated him for his Trials already (even though a lot of that was his fault, ay ay ay, what a mess). That's kinda the vibe I get from Episode I, that Obi-Wan is basically already skilled enough to be a Knight, he's just not quite gotten the right mindset yet. Then this was his Trial, and he ends up passing in both canon and this AU because he stops fighting in anger and starts actually thinking and listening to the Force and letting it guide him. Not sure if I captured that, but I know I didn't quite get it the way I wanted to.
> 
> Sidenote: I'm also saying he's 20 for this, mostly because I want to keep the age difference between Obi-Wan and Jango to 9 years, but I need Jango to be younger for some of the later stuff that I'm planning for this fic. *Shrug*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! :)
> 
> I'm so glad you liked the last chapter! :D Thanks for all your feedback and kudos and everything, it's awesome to see. That last one was tough to write, so I was glad to get to this little bit of fluff/filler/plot-point-setup after that last doozy. ;)
> 
> And yes, it's a second update in the same day!
> 
> I unexpectedly have today and tomorrow off due to those server issues at work yesterday, so I had lots of time to write. And just a little note on that--when I said updates would be sporadic, I mean really, really unevenly timed. There's no update schedule, and sometimes this will happen, and I'll post twice in one day, and then sometimes I might go a few weeks without posting something. It's all just dependent on real life stuff.

Two full days after the battle itself, the giddiness and elation of their victory had long since faded, leaving Padme utterly wrung out. But there was still so much to be _done,_ and so she knew she couldn’t rest. Not yet, not when the people of Theed were still trying to find their way back to their families, not when she was still trying to figure out what to do with those of her people who had been displaced until their homes could be repaired, not when they were still in talks with the Gungans, not when the Jedi were both lying in the palace infirmary—

Padme forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, and shook her head. She truly must be tired, if her thoughts were racing like that.

 _There will always be tragedy,_ she reminded herself, forcing her mother’s old adage to the fore of her mind and smiling as she crept down the dark halls. _Focus on the helpers in times of need, and the world will seem brighter._

The current talks with the Gungans were stressful, as Padme knew that they had the potential to forge a deeper relationship between their peoples than they had ever had before. So while that was _stressful,_ it was also _good._ It gave her a spark of hope that at least one good thing might come from this whole debacle. And the Gungans had been of great help to her people, finishing the raids on the camps the Naboo had been corralled into during their assault on the palace, drawing the droids away from them until the Mandalorians had managed to board the Federation control ship and blow it up from the inside.

The Mandalorians… They hadn’t simply _left_ once the fighting was over, which had half-surprised Padme, who hadn’t quite wanted to hope that they would remain after that. And yet they had, and all of them seemed just as experienced in the particular sort of rebuilding that came after an invasion’s end as they did fighting the battles. Jango and his commanders had offered their assistance, and Padme had gratefully accepted, and they had immediately gone to work, splitting their squads between “processing” (what they termed making sure the Naboo were given basic medical checks, and their names registered so that they could be reunited with their families and sent back to their proper homes), clearing the rubble to pave the way for the rebuilding that would have to come later, and helping with whatever repairs they could to the Naboo’s ships and equipment—the royal fighter squad had taken heavy fire, in the attack on the control ship, as they had been the ones acting as a distraction, that time, but with the Mandalorians helping her mechanics, they would all be flight-worthy again in less than a week.

And Jango in particular…

By the time Padme had seen him, after the battle, he was already in the palace infirmary, sitting in the corner of the room where he could see the one window, the door, and both Master Jinn and Obi-Wan’s beds from his vantage point. He had still been in his armor, though his helmet had rested in his lap as he sat and stared at the two Jedi, his gaze going from one to the other, watching over them both carefully. He had looked wearier and… smaller than Padme had ever seen him before, as if he was being crushed by the weight of his thoughts. Padme could certainly empathize with that.

The next morning, Jango had been there with his commanders, helping to guide the Naboo through the wholly unfamiliar process of reestablishing order after fighting, and he spent the next two days helping, though every four hours, he went back to check on the two Jedi. It was… surprising, and endearing.

Bo-Katan had explained it to her, a bit, looking exasperated, and not just because she was allowing Rabe to braid her hair, and had been sitting perfectly still for at least an hour. “The _Jeti’ika_ has him wrapped around his little finger already,” she’d snorted, lips twisting into a wry smile. “And he promised him he would watch out for Jinn.”

Padme felt a bit guilty for not visiting the Jedi nearly as much as Jango did, but she simply didn’t have _time,_ and had instead settled for being grateful for Jango’s regular updates, after each visit. So far, little had changed, and both were still unconscious, last she heard, though Master Jinn had, at least, been moved off of the critical list to stable, which was a small mercy.

But that was why Padme was wandering the corridors of the palace long past midnight—this was the first opportunity she had to slip away, and she felt the need to see her Jedi protectors in person, having neglected them the past few days.

She tilted her head, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips as she heard someone speaking inside the room, and paused just outside the door—but it was only Jango, and it sounded like he was talking to himself. Or, she realized slowly, to the still-unconscious Jedi.

“—and then Boba looked up at this Trandoshan—the kid was still all of sixty pounds soaking wet, then, mind you—and said, ‘ _Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?’_ ” Jango paused, laughing brightly. “As if he could have even _reached_ the _shabuir’s_ face to smack him. I didn’t know whether to be proud or angry, so I settled for being glad the Trandoshan didn’t speak Mando’a. Told him Boba had complimented his choice of guns, and thankfully, he bought it.” Jango paused. “I think you would’ve liked Boba. Well, I know you would’ve liked him—you have a soft spot for _ade,_ just like the rest of us. But I think he might have liked you too, if we’d met… under different circumstances.”

Padme frowned thoughtfully at that, wondering who Boba was, but put it from her mind and knocked on the door. Jango stopped speaking as she entered, giving her a smile and nod, though by now, he had stopped rising to greet her, finally giving in to her assurances that it was hardly necessary.

“Your Highness,” he greeted her evenly. She smiled at him.

“How are they?” she asked, keeping her voice low, even though she knew that waking them would be an accomplishment in itself. Jango’s smile was tinged with relief, then.

“Better. Shakka thinks Obi-Wan might wake up tomorrow; he stirred some today,” Jango relayed. Padme brightened and nodded. She liked Shakka quite a bit—the Twi’lek woman was kind, and very no-nonsense, not letting anyone who crossed her path escape at least a cursory examination. She had come with the crew of the _Bes’bev,_ and Padme’s own palace medical staff were grateful for her help, as it allowed them to take on even more of the patients scattered around Theed, so recently freed from the camps.

“That is good news,” Padme said, smiling back. Jango waved a hand at the chair settled near his, and Padme gratefully sank down.

“I had news for you for tomorrow’s morning briefing,” Jango said, “but I can just tell you now, since you’re here.” Padme looked at him curiously, tilting her head. “I spoke to _buir._ He had a… suggestion. When we were on _Coruscanta,_ I spoke briefly to the Chancellor about opening trade with the Republic. _Buir_ heard that the Chancellor was coming to Naboo to assess the situation and take part in the festivities—” Padme sighed at that. It felt so disrespectful, to celebrate with parades and feasts when her people had suffered and died, and when two of their heroes were still so gravely wounded, but even Jango had agreed that the Jedi would want her to move forward with it, even if they were still recovering. “—and thought he might kill two _shatuale_ with one shot. He wants to offer more help to you, through the New Mandalorian humanitarian arm of the government, in exchange for a trade agreement to take effect when you’re back on your feet—he’ll probably ask for lower rates for the first few years than you might otherwise have gotten, in exchange for our help, but it’ll still be fair rates. Or he might ask for future humanitarian aid, for your help with our war on slavery. Resources, helping with resettlement, that sort of thing. Maybe some combination of the two.

“Either way, if we could hammer out the details with Naboo specifically, and use of the Republic-controlled portions of the hyperspace lanes, both at the same time, that would make future agreements with other systems easier to put in place, since we’d already have a framework.” Jango paused, smirking at her. “He wants to call it ‘the Naboo Summit.’”

Padme laughed, and then mulled the idea over. It was a good opportunity for Naboo, and the Republic. It would also give Naboo a higher profile—they were a small system, in the Mid-Rim, and as much as Padme didn’t like to dwell on the shortcomings of the Republic, she knew that they held far less sway in the Senate than the corporations or the Core worlds. But to be the world where the first formal trade agreements were put in place with Mandalore in over a thousand years…

“I will have to discuss it with my advisors, of course, but I quite like the idea,” Padme said, grinning at him. Jango smiled back and nodded. “Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence then, and Padme tried to think of something to say, wanting conversation more to distract her from how tired she was than any real desire to speak of anything in particular. Jango raised an eyebrow at her, and then sighed.

“I understand your dedication to your people, Padme, and it’s commendable, but you will serve them better rested,” he said pointedly. Padme sighed.

“I know. But it’s… difficult to sleep, when I know how much there still is to be done,” she admitted. Jango tilted his head, and then eyed the Jedi thoughtfully.

“You came to check on these two, didn’t you?” Padme nodded. “Then sleep here. _Jetiise_ can feel people nearby, even when they’re asleep—at least on some level. And you’ll know if anything changes; I’ll keep watch, and wake you if there’s any change.”

Padme doubted that, somehow, but realized that he was trying to give her an excuse to rest that still satisfied her nagging sense of duty. And there _was_ an extra bed…

“Alright. Thank you, Jango.”

“ _N’entye. Jate ca._ ”

Padme smiled. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Padme woke slowly, not sure what had pulled her from sleep until she heard Jango’s voice again.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’ve been out for two and half days.”

“...I see.” And that was Obi-Wan, and that was enough to make Padme pry her eyes open, though she was still _exhausted._ She sat up, smiling as she saw Jango helping Obi-Wan do the same. His eyes lit on Padme and he smiled—he still looked too pale, even in the dim light—and it must still be very early, Padme realized distantly—but his eyes held a bit of that same spark, and she smiled back. He nodded deeply to her, clearly the closest he could come to a bow while seated like this, and then swayed. Jango put a steadying hand on his shoulder, grunting.

“What did I just say?”

“My apologies,” Obi-Wan murmured reflexively, lifting his head slowly. It seemed to take him a moment to refocus his gaze, and then he looked over at Master Jinn. “How is he?”

“Recovering,” Jango answered simply. “He’s stable, at least. Not critical anymore, though a stint in a bacta tank wouldn’t go amiss.”

Obi-Wan slowly turned to Jango, more mindful of his probably still-spinning head than he was before. “Thank you.”

“ _N’entye._ ” Jango reached to the side to grab a glass of water, pressing it into Obi-Wan’s hands. “Slowly.”

Obi-Wan drank a few sips before passing it back, giving Jango a grateful little smile. “I take it we won?”

Jango snorted, and Padme smiled again, feeling some of that initial happiness seep back into her bones. “We did.”

“Good. That’s a relief. And the Zabrak?”

“In a cryounit, down in the morgue,” Jango answered shortly. Obi-Wan blinked at that, looking surprised.

“...oh.”

Jango and Padme both frowned at that. Jango had actually been there to see it, and Padme had reviewed the security feed from the reactor room, and watched Obi-Wan kill him before rushing to save his Master. Did he not remember that?

“What do you remember?” Jango asked slowly, clearly wondering the same, and Obi-Wan’s frown deepened.

“It’s… rather muddled,” he said slowly, and then he flushed slightly, bringing a bit of color to his still too-white skin. “I think I will need to meditate, before it becomes clearer. It’s… difficult, at the moment, to recall what was a vision, and what was real.”

“Ah,” Jango said, as if that explained everything. Padme tilted her head curiously—she hadn’t realized Obi-Wan had had a vision of his fight against the assassin. “You can’t meditate yet, not for a few days. The _Jetiise_ said as much when we commed to update them—you gave yourself Force exhaustion.” There was a gruff reprimand in his words that made Padme smile at the concern it showed.

Obi-Wan sighed. “I know.”

“Because you’ve done this before?” Jango asked, sounding torn between exasperation and anger. Obi-Wan glowered down at the blankets over his legs.

“Only a few times,” he muttered mulishly, and Padme laughed at that, and Jango’s ensuing scowl.

“You should both try to sleep again,” Jango finally sighed. Obi-Wan nodded, grimaced at the movement, and then Jango huffed and gently pushed him to lay back down.

Padme smiled, meeting Jango’s gaze and nodding to him. She fell asleep easily, this time, knowing that Obi-Wan was in good hands.

* * *

It was a good day, Padme decided. The Mandalorians and her advisors had reported that morning that they had finished at least grouping all of the families back together in their temporary housing—as many as possible were stuffed into the guest wing of the palace, although Captain Panaka refused to allow any of them into the royal wing, much to her consternation. Still, she understood that the events of the last few weeks had been trying for him, and she ceded easily, knowing it would make him feel better. Fewer people meant that her security would be easier to ensure.

And it had only taken a matter of minutes to get the agreement of her handmaidens and advisors to move forward on Jango and the _Mand’alor’s_ invitation for a summit to be held there.

It was a good way to begin the day, and Padme made sure that she had time to slip away during their lunch break to visit the infirmary, pleased to find Obi-Wan awake again, though not so pleased to hear him—very politely—arguing with Jango.

“—really must report to the Council,” Obi-Wan insisted. “Since Master Qui-Gon is still… indisposed, it falls to me to—”

“We’ve already made an initial report to your Council,” Jango said flatly. “And we sent the reactor room footage, along with the recording from my _buy’ce_ of that first encounter in the camp. They already know what happened, and we’ve updated them on your status, as well as Jinn’s. The Council can wait.”

“And I do appreciate your attending to them for me, but I really must—”

“If you promise to stay in bed, and eat something, then Padme and I will brief you on what you missed,” Jango cut him off, nodding to Padme as she entered. Obi-Wan looked to her, seemingly without the difficulties he’d had last night, and she nodded. He did look better, color starting to come back to his face, but he was clearly still tired.

“...very well,” Obi-Wan sighed, sinking back into the pillows propping him up.

Padme happily called for lunch for them and then sat to catch Obi-Wan up on the progress they had made so far, Jango interjecting now and then to add more of the details as to what his commanders and soldiers had been doing. Obi-Wan seemed to relax more and more as she spoke, a pleased smile on his face as he took in their progress, and he seemed to be eating better with the distraction of the conversation around them than he had on their way to Naboo.

He nodded firmly when she was done. “I’m impressed, with both of you. Even such a brief conflict can take a very long time to come back from,” Obi-Wan said, and though the compliment was slightly marred by the disturbing weight of experience in his gaze, Padme smiled.

“Thank you. I do think that we would have been far slower to recover, had we not had Jango’s experience to guide us.”

Jango waved a dismissive hand—he was surprisingly like Obi-Wan, in the way he immediately became uncomfortable whenever anyone praised him. Padme’s smile grew as he changed the subject. “The Chancellor and Senator Palpatine—” Padme did wince a bit at the way Jango spat the man’s name, knowing that his attempt to maneuver himself into the Chancellorship had angered Jango, and set the two off on the wrong foot; Padme had mostly forgiven him for it by now. She knew that he was a politician, of course, and that seat was any politician’s ultimate goal, but she still had enough hope that he had genuinely wanted to make positive changes in the Senate to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now. “—will be here the day after tomorrow, arriving on the same ship as the other _Jetiise._ ”

“...I see,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Do you know who they’ve decided to send?”

“Windu, Mundi, Koon, Piell, Koth, Tiin, Billaba, and the troll,” Jango said, shrugging. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and Padme frowned at the disrespect towards one of the Masters—though who, she couldn’t say.

“I will give you fair warning: if you call Master Yoda a troll to his face, he will bruise any part of you that isn’t covered in armor with his gimmer stick,” Obi-Wan said, but there was a smile tugging at his lips, and his eyes were sparkling with mirth. Jango shrugged.

“We managed fine last time we met,” Jango said. Padme smiled, remembering that they had told her they met with several of the Council, on their ship, before leaving Coruscant—yet another positive change that had come from this mess. “Once Naboo is more settled, in a few weeks, _buir_ will be here as well. He’s leaving at the end of this week, though it’ll take him a while to get here from _Manda’yaim._ ”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose at that, and he slowly set his fork down on his plate, pushing it away on the table. “The _Mand’alor_ is visiting Naboo.”

“We are hosting a trade summit,” Padme explained. “Part of the negotiations will include aid from the New Mandalorian faction in our rebuilding, and a Mandalorian trade agreement with the Republic.”

Padme did not mention that she hoped to use these prospective Mandalorian trade agreements to further weaken the Federation by disrupting their virtual monopoly on the Republic’s trade routes, but she suspected Obi-Wan realized that, because his eyes glittered even brighter than before.

“What a lovely idea,” Obi-Wan said. Jango hummed.

“If the _Jetiise_ and the Naboo will agree to let you linger here, _buir_ wants to meet you,” Jango said. Obi-Wan looked surprised again at that, and Jango gave him a flat look. “He knew what all of us knew about you, and saw the reactor room footage. He was impressed.”

There it was again, that allusion to how they knew Obi-Wan before they had met, but from the way Obi-Wan’s eyes turned from that enchanting green-blue swirl to stormy grey, Padme wasn’t about to ask. Not now.

“Of course we will agree,” Padme assured them instead. “It is our privilege and our pleasure to have you with us.”

Obi-Wan flushed slightly and bowed his head. “Thank you.” Glancing over at Qui-Gon, he frowned, one hand reaching up to worry at the band holding the end of his braid together. “In any case, I won’t be leaving until Master Qui-Gon has recovered enough to go as well.”

“The healers said that may take up to two weeks,” Padme relayed, and Obi-Wan frowned.

“It will be a bit longer than that, I think,” he said slowly. “Master Qui-Gon is quite strong in the Living Force, and being planet-side helps him when he’s injured. He tends to become… unsettled in hyperspace, without anything natural to connect to. And with the journey to Coruscant taking five days, I would advise against moving him until he’s woken up; five days would be more than enough for a backslide, if we attempt it too soon, when he can’t consciously meditate to mitigate the effects.”

Padme nodded slowly. “We are more than happy to keep him here as long as he needs,” she said. Obi-Wan smiled, some of the warmth coming back into his eyes.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

Padme nodded, and then sighed. “I’m afraid I must get back to work—there is still much to be done before we are ready for our guests.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming, Padme,” Obi-Wan said warmly, his smile genuine. She smiled back and glanced at Jango, who shook his head to indicate he would stay behind—likely to make sure Obi-Wan actually stayed in bed. She laughed softly to herself as she shut the door behind her. There was just something adorable and rather funny about watching an armored Mandalorian fussing over a Jedi Padawan.

* * *

The next time Padme was able to slip away, the following afternoon, to see the Jedi and Jango—who, now that Obi-Wan was awake, seemed to spend every minute in that room with them—she stopped dead in the doorway, staring at Obi-Wan. He had one arm handcuffed to the bed with strange, heavy-looking cuffs, though he was smiling, and looked to be playing sabacc with Jango, who had put his helmet on.

“What happened?” Padme asked slowly, pointedly looking at the handcuffs, and directing the question to Jango. She didn’t quite trust Obi-Wan to answer honestly about anything that might relate to his own health.

“He cheats at cards,” Jango said with a shrug, and then reached up to rap his knuckles on his helmet. “ _Beskar_ muffles the Force.”

“I have already told you, Jango,” Obi-Wan sighed, “I am _not_ using the Force to cheat; that would most certainly count as frivolous use.” Padme didn’t miss the implication that he was likely cheating some _other_ way, and raised an eyebrow. “But Jango is right: _beskar_ muffles the Force. He happened to have a pair of _beskar_ handcuffs with him on the ship. Having it attached to only one wrist doesn’t completely cut me off from the Force, and I doubt having both wrists shackled would, it only muffles it some. It’s actually been rather helpful, I will admit, until I can rebuild my shields; though I would have appreciated it had you _not_ attached the other end to the bed.”

Jango shrugged. “You said it helps with the Force, and it also helps keep you where you’re supposed to be.”

“How is it helpful to restrict yourself from the Force?” Padme asked slowly, going to settle herself on the other chair, watching them play.

Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully, likely pondering how best to explain it to someone who couldn’t sense the Force, and then sighed. “Force exhaustion occurs when we channel more of the Force than our bodies are capable of. Our natural limits are determined by our midichlorian counts; the higher the midichlorian count, the more of the Force you can sense and channel. But when anyone who is Force sensitive channels beyond what their natural limits allow, it results in Force exhaustion. It’s… burnout, essentially. To touch the Force while still exhausted only taxes the body further, but being completely cut off from the Force is just as detrimental to our health, and so it must be reintroduced slowly, until we reach our normal level.” He paused and shot Jango a dry look. “Don’t think that this conversation is distracting me from _your_ cheating, Jango.”

Jango scoffed. “If I was cheating, I’d be winning.”

Obi-Wan snorted and Padme smiled. “You mentioned something about shields?”

Obi-Wan nodded, looking at his cards and taking his turn before answering her. “Yes. Mental shields serve several purposes, for Force-sensitives. The first is to help us regulate our connection to the Force; as younglings, we are taught to sense and push our natural limits to find them, and then create shields that help us channel the Force in reasonable amounts relative to what we can handle, so that we may then reach for it less consciously. They also help buffer us against the feelings and thoughts of others, particularly other Force-sensitives, who are always louder in the Force.”

“...I see,” Padme said, nodding slowly as she tried to internalize the strange and unfamiliar concepts. She smiled again. “I am glad that it’s helping, though I’m terribly sorry: I agree with Jango. Somehow, I get the sense that if he hadn’t handcuffed you to the bed, you would already be up. And I _know_ you haven’t been cleared yet.”

“Blast,” Obi-Wan murmured, though if it was at what she had said, or the game, she didn’t know. He sighed and set his cards down, shaking his head. “Would you care to join us in the next round?”

“I’ve never played sabacc before,” Padme said slowly. “It wasn’t considered… appropriate.”

Jango snorted and shrugged. “We can teach you.”

Padme hesitated. “There are several matters I need to attend to tonight…”

“It won’t take long,” Jango said. Padme nodded slowly and moved her chair forward, towards the table, and Jango began his explanation.

* * *

When Bo-Katan found them, they had been playing for several hours. Padme had protested after each round that she really should go, and Jango and Obi-Wan taking turns to convince her to stay for _just one more;_ she knew exactly what they were doing, forcing her to take a break more than an hour long that _wasn’t_ just for sleeping, but with the two of them against her, she knew she wouldn’t win that argument.

“You two had better not be fleecing my _vod’ika,_ ” Bo-Katan growled as she stalked into the room, glancing at Master Jinn for a moment before approaching them.

Padme stilled as she realized that Bo-Katan had just called her _little sister,_ and then turned to meet her gaze, smiling softly at her. “ _Vor’e._ ” Bo-Katan smiled back and nodded sharply. “They were teaching me to play, actually.”

“...huh. Well, I figured you might want to know that they’re landing in an hour,” Bo-Katan said casually.

“The Chancellor and the Jedi?” Padme clarified. Bo-Katan nodded, smirking slightly, knowing they had all lost track of time. “Oh dear. Thank you, Bo-Katan. I’m sorry to bow out of our game, but I’m afraid I must go prepare for their arrival.”

“Go,” Jango said, waving a hand. Padme paused.

“Will you be joining me?”

“Yes—”

“Of course—”

Obi-Wan and Jango started to speak at the same time, and then they all turned to glare at Obi-Wan.

“Not you,” Jango said flatly. “You are staying _here._ And _no,_ I am not taking the cuffs off.”

Bo-Katan frowned, and then caught sight of the cuffs chaining Obi-Wan to the bed, and her eyebrows went up. She looked at Jango a bit incredulously. He shrugged.

“ _Beskar_ dampens the Force. He was channeling too much of it,” Jango explained briefly. Bo-Katan nodded slowly, expression turning amused. Obi-Wan huffed.

“I thought he could pick locks, too,” Bo-Katan said slowly. Jango barked a laugh.

“Only with the Force, so far as I’ve seen.”

“The same friend who taught me how to hotwire a speeder also showed me how to pick locks like any other sentient,” Obi-Wan sniffed dismissively. Jango immediately turned to Padme.

“Make sure he didn’t steal any of your hairpins. It’s what I would do.” Padme frowned and reached up to feel the coiled and pinned braids—sure enough, there was one missing. How had he even done that without her realizing, or leaving the bed? He couldn’t have used the Force, not while he was cuffed and exhausted… 

She turned and glared at Obi-Wan and held out a hand. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” He sighed and sheepishly produced it from where he’d hidden it beneath the covers, handing it back to her. “You are _staying in that bed._ You are on _my_ planet, and that is an _order._ ”

Obi-Wan tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slightly. “ _Your_ planet, is it, Your Majesty?”

Oh, _damn._ She had been doing so well, too. Bo-Katan just looked amused, having already known, and Padme had no doubt Jango was made aware as soon as the Mandalorians had realized, and guessed he was probably smirking under his helmet. Sighing, she shook her head. “Yes. And you _will_ be right here when we come back, won’t you?”

“Of course, _Your Majesty._ ”

Padme rolled her eyes, knowing that he was now going to hold this over her forever. He laughed brightly, and she cracked a smile.

“As much fun as this was, we’d better get moving,” Bo-Katan interrupted them. Padme sighed at that—there was always work to be done.

* * *

Padme was clearly marked as the Queen when they met the Jedi and the politicians, though she had forgone any restricting attire, and only the two red dots on her cheeks marked her status. Well, that and the fact that she was standing at the head of the procession waiting to greet her guests.

Chancellor Valorum was first off the ship, and he gave her a tight smile; she smiled back broadly, knowing that he wasn’t an expressive man, and that was tantamount to beaming for him. He was closely followed by Senator Palpatine, and several Jedi.

To her chagrin, Padme immediately understood which one of them must be Master Yoda, the one Jango had referred to as a troll. She looked to him briefly, frowning as she saw how tense he was, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his back ramrod straight as he stared at one of the Jedi, a tall man with dark hair, liberally sprinkled with silver. She wished she could see his expression, but he still had his helmet on.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Highness,” the Chancellor said. Padme gave him another, smaller, smile.

“Likewise, Your Excellency.”

“I cannot express how pleased I am that you are safe,” Senator Palpatine said. She nodded to him, giving him a smile as well.

“My handmaidens will show you to your rooms, if you would like to rest,” Padme offered. “You’ve had a long journey.”

“We have indeed,” Senator Palpatine agreed, nodding. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Of course. We will meet tomorrow for our morning meal; for now, I wish you both a good night,” she said. Senator Palpatine bowed to her, and Rabe and Eirtee led them away, one of the Mandalorians and one of the Naboo royal guard following just behind them, along with the two Coruscant guards who had traveled with them. Padme smiled at that, amused.

“Happy to see you, we are,” the little troll said. Padme’s smile grew, though so did her mortification, hoping that the Jedi wouldn’t get a sense of her thoughts. “Master Yoda, I am.” He bowed, and she nodded deeply in return, the others introducing themselves in a similar fashion.

Padme learned that the man who had so unsettled Jango was Yan Dooku, though that meant little to her. Perhaps Jango had met him before, and it had been an unpleasant experience? But… that would likely have made him hesitate to help them on Tatooine. She put it from her mind; that was a puzzle for later.

“Thank you for coming, Masters Jedi,” she said.

“Thank you, we do, for your hospitality, and the care of our own,” Master Yoda replied. Padme smiled and nodded back.

“It was the least we could do. Would you prefer to see them first, or rest?” she asked.

“Master Yoda, Master Dooku, and I would like to see to them first. No need to overwhelm them with all of us at once,” Master Windu said. Padme nodded and gestured for her handmaidens to show the rest of them to their rooms. She glanced at Jango, confirming what she had already suspected as he fell into step with them, headed back to the palace infirmary. Padme frowned as she noted that he placed himself just behind Master Dooku, forcing the mystery of Jango’s instantaneous dislike of the man back to the fore. Perhaps it had something to do with how they knew Obi-Wan and Master Jinn before they had met?

As much as she liked Jango, and the Jedi, and as much as Padme appreciated what they had done for her people, they were beginning to aggravate her with this ridiculous amount of mysteries and conundrums surrounding them all. But she could be patient—it now looked like she would have several weeks, at least, to begin prying answers from them. Padme smiled to herself as she led them into the infirmary; one way or another, she would get her answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many tropes do you guys think I can shove in here? We've already got the forced closeness with the jetpacks, wearing each other's clothes, and now we have handcuffs...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a little interlude than anything, but I wanted to give a little insight into what Jaster thinks of all of this and hint a few things coming later... :)

Jaster worried about Jango. Of course he did, that was his  _ ad,  _ but it was more than that.

Jango had been… different, ever since Korda 6. He knew in his bones that it was the nightmare that Jango would never speak to him about that had changed him, but he didn’t quite understand how, nor could he even guess at what Jango had seen that night. But the changes were readily apparent to Jaster, who knew him better than anyone. He was quieter, more thoughtful, when he’d been a bit of a hot-head, before; Jango often acted surprised in the field, when he turned around and found his  _ verde  _ behind him, like he expected to be alone; he simply  _ knew  _ things that there was no way he could possibly know, but he was always right.

And Jaster had realized that Jango had some sort of grand vision for the future of Mandalore, not that his  _ ad  _ had ever seen fit to tell him what it might be. But Jaster had more than enough experience to know when someone was acting with the distant future in mind, every action deliberately taken to further a larger goal. He just couldn’t quite tell what Jango’s goal  _ was. _

He had asked, once, the first time Jango refused the crown.

“I want to retire,  _ ad’ika, _ ” Jaster had sighed. “I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. You  _ are  _ ready.”

Jango had slowly shaken his head, his eyes—which had always been intense and expressive, but ever since that nightmare, seemed almost to  _ burn  _ with startling intensity —unfixed, as though seeing something that was only in his mind. Jaster saw that kind of far-away look often, on the  _ verde  _ who suffered from combat fatigue (and he did think there was some of that in Jango, though he seemed to cope well enough on his own, and had avoided answering any of Jaster’s probing questions until he simply gave up, knowing Jango would speak when he wanted to, and not before), and Jaster frowned.

“I’m not saying no,” Jango said slowly. “I’m saying  _ not yet. _ ”

“Why?” Jaster had sighed. He truly didn’t understand it—they both knew that Jango would succeed him. He would just prefer it to be sooner, rather than later.

Jango had laughed at that, his eyes clearing, snapping back into focus on Jaster’s face. He shrugged. “I’m playing a very long game,  _ buir.  _ Right now, the advantages I have with my current position—power  _ and  _ relative anonymity—are too important to my plans.”

“And what plans would those  _ be,  _ Jan’ika?” Jaster had sighed. Jango stared at him for a long moment, and then tilted his head.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. Jaster frowned at that, but nodded slowly.

“Of course I do. You know that.”

Jango smiled wanly at him. “Then trust me.” Jaster knew, then, that he wouldn’t be getting an answer.

The next time they really talked about it was the third time Jango had refused to let Jaster just karking  _ retire already. _

“There might be somewhere I have to go, eventually,” Jango had said slowly. Jaster had listened carefully, because this incredibly vague warning was the most Jango had ever been willing to say. “It will take me away from  _ Manda’yaim,  _ if I do have to go. Probably for a long time—maybe a decade or so.”

Jaster had frowned at that. “Will it better  _ Manda’yaim? _ ”  _ Will it be worth it?  _ That was what he was really asking, and they both knew it.

Jango had laughed at that, a rough, rueful sound. “I know this isn’t what you expected to hear,  _ buir,  _ but this is… much larger than  _ Manda’yaim. _ ”

That had worried him, but once again, the conversation had ended with Jango asking for his trust, and Jaster giving it. And at every turn, his  _ ad  _ proved that Jaster wasn’t wrong to do so.

He’d had his doubts when Jango first proposed to declare war on slavery, but he had listened to Jango’s plan, and had had to agree that it was well thought-out. It was a noble cause that even the New Mandalorians couldn’t deny  _ would  _ require violence, at times, and something the pacifists could put their own efforts towards, helping clean up the aftermath, and creating underground freedom trails on worlds they couldn’t just invade to free the slaves by force. And as it would require plenty of boots on the ground for those worlds they  _ could  _ invade, it would help sate the bloodlust and conquering urges of the former- _ Kyr’tsad  _ they had brought back into the fold.

And it  _ did  _ better  _ Manda’yaim.  _ Now that they had peace on the homefront, many of the freed slaves were happy to take up residence within their borders, providing the freed safety, and Mandalore more skilled workers. Plus the fact that no one minded taking money from the Bando Gora, the Black Sun, or the Hutts meant that they could seize any credits or valuables they found when they freed the slaves they held, and then take their “payment” from the slavers’ coffers (usually their maintenance costs reimbursed, and nothing more). They then passed the rest of the earnings they seized on to the newly-freed to sort out better lives—which, again, they often started on  _ Manda’yaim. _

Jaster hadn’t seen the economy this strong in decades.

Jango had been right, then, just as he always was (he’d been right about Montross, and Pre Vizsla, and the attempt on Adonai Kryze’s life, and so many other things), and over the years, Jaster began to progress from trust to faith. He rarely argued with Jango’s suggestions, anymore, so long as he could provide a good explanation as to why he’d made them, and Jaster just… accepted it.

Jaster knew that Jango had been touched by the  _ ka’ra.  _ It was the only explanation that made sense—the sudden shift in him, the impossible knowledge, the grand designs he seemed to be working towards… It all spoke of the previous  _ Mand’alor’e  _ watching down on them while marching far away speaking to him and imparting their wisdom. Which meant Jango really  _ should  _ be the  _ Mand’alor,  _ and not Jaster, but that was an argument he was staunchly unwilling to use against his  _ ad.  _ Jango was… difficult about things sometimes, when it came to the Old Ways.

So while Jaster had eventually stopped worrying quite as much in general, had stopped questioning Jango, he was worried about  _ this. _

Myles had reached out to him first, after they reached  _ Coruscanta  _ with the Nubian Queen. Jaster hadn’t believed him when he’d said Jango seemed gone on some  _ Jeti’ika _ —he was probably just trying to be friendly in the hopes not to spook him _.  _ When Bo-Katan had commed and said the same, not even knowing that Myles had already told him, Jaster started to take it a bit more seriously, and he wondered what Jango thought he was doing.

Then he had found out that the little  _ Jetii  _ was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and thought his concerns resolved. Surely Jango was just invested in the kid they had all wondered about for years. Surely he was just taking his opportunity to interact with him to see if he was as  _ Mandokarla  _ as he’d sounded from his files on Bandomeer, and the Creed-bound’s description of him on Melidaan. Jango was just curious, and that was all.

And then Jaster saw the reactor room footage—helpfully passed along by Silas, as all of Jango’s commanders seemed to be worried about this mission, and the way Jango was acting—and he couldn’t deny it anymore.

For fuck’s sake, Jango had tried to kill a  _ Sith  _ with his  _ bare hands, _ trying to protect that  _ Jeti’ika _ —who, as it turned out, hadn’t  _ needed  _ protecting, and struck the final blow himself.  _ With his karking eyes closed. _

Jaster saw the footage ten hours after it happened, and he got text-only comm updates from Jango for the next two days. This wasn’t something he could ask him about over text—no, he wanted to see Jango’s expression, when he confronted him about it; that was always more telling than Jango’s words, these days, those carefully crafted statements that said so much and imparted so little. And so he waited.

Finally, Jango commed, and the first words out of his mouth were, “ _ Sorry, _ buir. _ It’s been busy here. _ ” Even over the blue-washed holo, Jaster could see that he was exhausted. Probably running on too many stims and not enough sleep again, insisting on working seventy-two hour combat shifts even in the clean-up phase.

Jaster snorted. “I can tell. Your  _ verde  _ sent me the reactor room footage.” Jango winced at that, since he hadn’t mentioned that fight himself in his messages; Jaster knew it was likely that Jango had wanted to wait until he could holocomm, to let Jaster see him and reassure himself that he really  _ was  _ fine, but being the last to come clean about it never looked good. Jaster was willing to use that guilt for all it was worth, if he needed to. “You’re alright?”

“ _ I’m fine. Bruised, but fine. _ ”

“What did that thing do to you?” Jaster asked, frowning. He’d seen Jango lifted into the air, reaching for his throat, even though there was nothing touching him, and his jetpack hadn’t been on. Jango hadn’t done that—it had been their karking  _ Force. _

“ _ Something they very creatively call a Force choke, _ ” Jango said flatly. “ _ But I’m  _ **_fine_ ** _. _ ”

Jaster frowned at that, wishing he could see him in person to verify that more fully, but he sighed, letting it go. The silence stretched out, and Jaster finally sat back in his chair, letting some of his own weariness show, and asked, “Did it really have to be a  _ Jeti’ika,  _ Jango?”

Jango frowned. “ _ I don’t know what you mean. _ ”

Jaster raised an eyebrow. “You went off half-cocked and  _ unarmed  _ at a  _ Sith  _ for that boy, Jango. You know exactly what I mean.”

“ _...it’s better to do it hand-to-hand _ — _ usually easier, _ ” Jango muttered under his breath. Jaster still heard it and frowned at him, wondering when Jango had fought Force-users before, and why he didn’t know about it. Jango shook his head. “ _ It turned out alright. We’re all alive. _ ”

“Even the Master?” Jaster asked, surprised by that, setting aside his questions for now, already knowing he wouldn’t get an answer anyway. It was rare that Jango slipped even that much, and revealed something. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice in the same conversation. Jango nodded, scowling slightly.

“ _ Obi-Wan nearly killed himself to do it, but he saved him. Don’t ask me how _ — _ it’s Force  _ osik,  _ as much as I can figure, _ ” Jango said. Jaster couldn’t quite contain himself at that.

“So he’s Obi-Wan to you, is he?”

“ _ Buir, _ ” Jango said flatly. Jaster had to wonder just how much ribbing he’d already taken from his  _ verd’e  _ before deciding that didn’t matter. This wasn’t teasing, this was concern.

“Jango,” Jaster returned evenly, putting a hint of warning into his voice. Jango frowned at him. “It’s been a long time since you’ve done anything this reckless. You can’t blame me for being worried by it.”

Jango sighed. “ _ I have plans for him. _ ”

“Plans. For the  _ Jeti’ika. _ ”

“‘Lek.  _ You’ll see,  _ buir.  _ Trust me, _ ” Jango said. Jaster stared at him for a long moment, and then closed his eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Finally, he looked back at Jango, dropping his hand, and said, “One of these days,  _ ad’ika,  _ we will have words about that.”

“ _ But not today, _ ” Jango said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, not today,” Jaster grudgingly agreed, however much he’d like to press the issue, something told him not to. Not yet. “Tell me about Naboo.”

“ _ It’s a promising opportunity on multiple fronts, _ ” Jango said immediately, and launched into his briefing.

And if, somehow, at the end of what was meant to be a simple debrief of his second-in-command, and also a more personal conversation with his son, Jaster had agreed to leave Mandalore for the opposite end of the galaxy, for a trade summit with the karking  _ Republic,  _ well.  He would just have to trust that Jango knew what he was doing, even if he wasn’t willing to say what that might be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the plague, you guys. Not really the plague, obviously, just COVID. But damn, it sucks. Today's the first time I've really felt well enough to write in a while.
> 
> Anyway, here's some Dooku!
> 
> UPDATE: Hey everybody! Just wanted to let you know that I'm alive. My COVID seemed to be getting better, but then I got pneumonia. I was very lucky and I've recovered pretty quickly from it! My energy levels are a bit low, so it may still take some time to get new chapters out, but I am alive and writing! :D

Yan was grateful, truth be told, for the mystery the Mandalorians and the probable Sith on Naboo presented. He was not _officially_ on Naboo for any other purpose than to assist his lineage in their recoveries, but unofficially, he was grateful for his mission to discover the true intentions of the Mandalorians, and any connection they may have to the Sith. It gave him something to think on apart from how close Qui-Gon had come to death in that battle.

After Yan had reigned in his _anger_ as he watched the reactor room footage, he had watched it again, this time focusing not on Qui-Gon, or on the Grandpadawan he had never even had the opportunity to meet, but on the Mandalorian, Jango Fett.

The man had fought a Sith with no weapon, and Yan could not honestly tell if Fett might have won, had the Sith not resorted to such a brute use of the Force as a choke. Certainly it proved that the man was dangerous, and possibly experienced in fighting Force-sensitives. Not unheard of for a Mandalorian, as they were all trained in tactics that traditionally worked well against Force-wielders, be they Jedi or Sith, but something about the way Fett approached the Zabrak told Yan that he might have more personal experience than it may appear on the surface.

And then the man had saved his old Padawan’s life. Though Yan was quite grateful for that, it had begged several more questions—he had paid careful attention to the interplay between young Obi-Wan and Fett in particular. He had watched them, noting that Fett seemed to _want_ to follow Obi-Wan, to finish the battle against the Sith, but stood down and turned to Qui-Gon on Obi-Wan’s silent signal.

That Fett had simply _trusted_ that Obi-Wan would defeat the Sith, alone, when a highly trained Mandalorian commando and a Jedi Master could not, was baffling to Yan. It spoke of a sort of _faith_ that he could not understand. Fett had made their acquaintance mere _weeks_ ago. What could have happened in that time to convince Fett to have such faith in Obi-Wan? Nothing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had reported to the Council would explain it, not even their prior knowledge of Obi-Wan’s history.

But a much larger, more important question loomed before them all: why would the Mandalorians choose to help them? They had traditionally been allies of the Sith—the Zabrak had been correct on that front. Why would they go against their own traditions? Yan knew that they _seemed_ to be building a more progressive society, and had declared a humanitarian war on slavery throughout the galaxy, but his training and instincts both cautioned him against trusting that surface impression. It would not be unheard of for this to be a trap of some sort, luring them into an alliance only to double cross them at a later time.

And both his instincts and the Force agreed: there was something larger, unseen, at work here. The Mandalorians were important, and Jango Fett was likely hiding something. He was the son of the _Mand’alor,_ after all—if anyone was likely to know what their plans were, it would be him, and Yan certainly hoped that he would be an easier target to pry information from than the _Mand’alor_ himself.

So Yan was keenly aware of the fact that Fett seemed to be keeping a closer eye on him than the others, and decided that was a good sign. Whether it was out of suspicion or something else, something unknown, if Fett was keeping a closer eye on him than the others, Yan could leverage that, finding a moment alone with him perhaps…

Fett trailed him all the way to the palace’s medical ward and into the room, where Yan could no longer keep his thoughts on his mission.

Qui-Gon looked terrible. He was too still and pale, and the light green tunics the Nubian healers had put him in washed him out further. Yoda hummed and jumped up onto the bed, Mace going to stand at one side of it, and then Fett growled low and turned to the Queen.

“Where did he go?” Fett asked, and the Queen blinked, and then looked to one of the empty beds before sighing, mingled disappointment and anger flaring from her in the Force.

“He told us he would be here—”

“Relax,” another Mandalorian said as she stepped into the room; she was a Twi’lek woman with her helmet held under one arm. “I cleared him, and he took the _beskar_ with him. He’s fine—I can’t do anything more for him. The _Jetiise_ —” She waved a hand at the three of them. “—will have to figure it out.”

“Padawan Kenobi?” Mace asked, and the woman nodded.

“Shakka Fendi, House Mereel,” she introduced herself, nodding to them. “I’m the _Bes’bev’s ba’ruur._ Their medic.”

“I see. Thank you for looking after them,” Mace said politely. Shakka huffed.

“The little one didn’t make it easy. Does he ever stop arguing?”

“Not with healers,” Mace acknowledged a bit ruefully. Shakka snorted and shook her head.

“Well, despite his best efforts, the kid’s fine,” she said flatly. “He’ll come find you in a minute—he insisted on sleeping here tonight, since we’re not moving Jinn.”

“Thank you,” Mace repeated, and she waved a hand.

“ _N'entye,_ ” she said, and then paused to nod to Jango. “ _Alor._ ” With that, she turned and left them.

A slightly awkward silence fell, and the Masters turned their attention back to Qui-Gon.

“Healing, he is,” Yoda proclaimed, resting one hand on Qui-Gon’s chest. “Recover, he will.”

Yan felt a spike of _relief_ at that before he carefully tucked it away, to be released later, in private. Mace did not bother, releasing his own relief and lingering worry. Yan looked to Fett, hoping to take the opportunity to thank him, but the door slid open, and Yan straightened.

Obi-Wan was smaller, in person, than Yan would have thought. Although Yan could tell that he was normally rather pale, he barely looked any better than Qui-Gon in that regard, now, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He bowed to them, and Yan caught sight of a shackle around one of his wrists, looped so that both ends were around the same arm. How odd—was that the _beskar_ they had mentioned, perhaps?

“Masters.”

“Padawan Kenobi,” Mace returned evenly, nodding to him.

“Sit,” Fett ordered, looking at Obi-Wan. Though he was strangely muted in the Force, likely from the _beskar_ armor he wore, Yan got the distinct impression that he was glaring underneath his helmet.

Obi-Wan huffed, but allowed Fett to steer him to one of the beds, grumbling under his breath as he sat down, tucking his legs up beneath him. Whatever he said, Fett huffed and shook his head. How interesting—the two of them had such camaraderie already. Though perhaps that was not unexpected, given that they had faced a Sith Lord together, and Fett had saved Qui-Gon’s life.

Silence fell, and then Fett turned to the Queen and slowly took off his helmet, revealing a very _pointed_ look on his face. “We all have an early morning, Your Majesty.” The Queen sighed.

“Jango is right, of course. I hope you will excuse me. The royal guard will show you to your rooms, if you don’t mind,” the Queen said. So she was on a first-name basis with Fett—that was also not _surprising,_ at least not entirely, given what he had done for her world. But still, it was quite intriguing, how Fett seemed to have gained their trust so very quickly.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you,” Mace answered for them, and she nodded to them deeply before leaving, not even waiting for them to bow in return.

Another long silence ensued, and Fett made his way to the chair in the corner, nearest to Obi-Wan’s bed. Curious—Yan would have chosen that position himself if he had needed to keep watch, as it looked out over both beds, the door, and the window. It could very well simply be that Fett was an experienced warrior, and hypervigilant behaviors were a habit for him, or…

Or he might believe that they needed protection even here and now, even with three able-bodied Masters and one very capable Padawan in the room. How intriguing.

Still, Fett seemed tense, though Yan still wasn’t getting much of a sense of him in the Force, even with his helmet off. Deciding it would not be prudent to push him now, Yan turned his attention to Obi-Wan.

“Despite the circumstances, I am pleased to meet you at last, Grandpadawan.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply, but stopped himself, glancing at Fett with a small frown on his face. Fett waved a hand at him, and Obi-Wan slowly looked away, turning back to Yan. Had he sensed something from Fett? Yan had noticed nothing, the man’s natural shielding still alarmingly good. Yan got none of the normal baseline “hum” from him that he did from other sentients, their strongest emotions at the current moment leaving impressions in the Force. But Fett had not moved, had not outwardly reacted, and so Obi-Wan _must_ have sensed something from him when Yan could not.

How _very_ interesting.

“Thank you for coming, Master Dooku. I’m sure Master Qui-Gon will thank you as well, once he wakes,” Obi-Wan said. Yan raised an eyebrow, not missing the amusement glittering in Obi-Wan’s eyes. No doubt he knew that Yan’s lack of familiarity with him was by design, rather than by accident. Qui-Gon had not _wanted_ them to meet, which rankled, but Yan had seen no way to force a meeting without further alienating his former apprentice. And, he suspected, Qui-Gon would be none too pleased to find out that they had met while he was still unconscious and not there to “supervise” them.

Obi-Wan was a cheeky boy, wasn’t he? And clever with his words.

“Perhaps,” Yan returned. “Proper manners were never his forte.” He let that comment rest for a beat, and then continued speaking before Obi-Wan could form a response. “Would you care to explain your… intriguing bracelets?” He gestured airly towards Obi-Wan’s shackled wrist, and Obi-Wan smiled slightly.

“Ah, that. _Beskar_ muffles the Force, and these are helping me to lessen my Force input, until I can rebuild my shields,” Obi-Wan explained. Yan nodded slowly. That was a sensible explanation; still, from the way the boy’s cheeks pinked ever-so-slightly, and the odd combination of indignation and amusement flowing from him in the Force spoke of a larger story behind that.

Again, Yan found that it was not the right time to pry into matters further, and simply hummed. “A rather innovative solution.”

“It was a better solution when it also kept you in bed,” Fett muttered darkly, and Obi-Wan sighed.

“I was cleared by one of _your_ medics, Jango.”

Fett simply huffed and folded his arms over his chest, his helmet resting on his lap. Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in a smile as he turned back to the other Jedi. When he saw that Yan had been carefully, blatantly watching the exchange, his cheeks pinked slightly.

Yan decided to show him some grace and did not mention it, instead changing the topic again. “We do have news from the Council for you.” Obi-Wan tensed slightly, and Yan waved a hand. “Nothing too terrible, I assure you.” Obi-Wan nodded slowly, but did not quite relax at that. Was he on poor terms with the Council as Qui-Gon so often was? If Obi-Wan was, news of it did not spread like wildfire through the Temple as Qui-Gon’s own disagreements did, at least no news that had ever reached Yan. But then, a Master who semi-regularly received censures was far better gossip-fodder than a Padawan, even a Senior Padawan, getting a slap on the wrist minor enough it didn’t even make it to Obi-Wan’s official record. Yan would know, having looked through Obi-Wan’s file extensively over the years. Qui-Gon may have not wished them to meet, but he could do nothing to stop Yan from keeping himself informed.

...and Fett had not taken the inherent prompt to leave. He hadn’t even really _acknowledged_ what they were saying, and Yan realized slowly that his attention was split nearly evenly between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, where Yoda had moved to sitting on his shoulder, swaying gently with his eyes closed, humming to himself. Demented old troll, Yan thought with some fond amusement.

Turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand, Yan briefly considered asking Fett to leave them, but dismissed the idea in favor of seeing how he would react to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon being separated, as it was beginning to appear that Fett felt some sort of responsibility for the two of them. “Perhaps you would walk with me?”

“He should be resting,” Fett said flatly. Obi-Wan waved a hand at Jango.

“I’ve done nothing but rest for the past few days. I think I would like to stretch my legs a bit,” Obi-Wan said. Fett’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing even more, but he did not argue the matter further, nor did he make any move to leave his seat. Yan could not quite tell if it was because Qui-Gon was the more injured of the two, and Fett wished to watch out for him specifically, or because he was honoring the inherent request for privacy now that it would be too obviously rude and awkward to remain for the conversation. Either option presented interesting possibilities for Fett’s motivations, and Yan tucked the information away. He waited just long enough for Obi-Wan to pull his boots on, and then he nodded and swept out of the room.

“Come, Grandpadawan.”

* * *

They did not go far, Yan stopping when they found an alcove with bench set below tall windows. Yan waved a hand. “Sit.”

Obi-Wan sat obediently, though he gave him a rather arch look, as if to insist that he was “fine,” but Yan ignored him, pondering how best to give him this news. It should be a happy moment, but it should also be Qui-Gon who told the boy, not Yan.

“Given our lineage connection, the Council granted me permission to give you this news,” Yan said. Obi-Wan frowned slightly, and Yan resisted the urge to sigh. Could the boy truly not divine where this was going? “The Council is in full agreement already: once you are recovered, provided nothing unexpected comes up in your personal report to them, you will be Knighted.”

Yan was not sure what sort of reaction he expected from Obi-Wan, but he had not counted on the boy’s eyes sparking with determination, his brow furrowing lightly, not-quite-scowling. The expression lasted a fleeting moment before Obi-Wan sank back into a mask of serenity and bowed his head. Yan realized he must have rebuilt some of his shields already, as he could sense no hint of what had caused _that_ reaction in the Force, and simply did not have the energy to maintain them constantly as he normally would.

A moment later, Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Thank you, Grandmaster. I’m certain my Master will be pleased to hear their opinion when he wakes.”

Ah. Yan should have guessed that Obi-Wan would find some way to politely refuse the promotion until Qui-Gon was awake. As he was no longer on the critical list, the Council would not be able to argue that his death was imminent, and that would be the only protest they could raise to stop a Padawan from deferring to their Master, if the Padawan would rather choose not to abide by the Council’s decision alone in this sort of matter.

“Your dedication to your Master does you credit,” Yan said, “but it may be months before Qui-Gon is recovered enough to attend your ceremony.”

“I understand, Grandmaster. But if I am still his Padawan, they will not be able to separate us,” Obi-Wan said. “Master Qui-Gon made a promise to see me Knighted, and I will make him keep that promise.”

Yan did not know if such devotion was inspired by recent events, and how close a call it had been, or if Obi-Wan had always been this way when it came to Qui-Gon, but the spark of warmth he felt at the loyalty he displayed was dangerous. This spoke of an attachment to Qui-Gon that he knew the Council would likely disapprove of, in both himself and in Obi-Wan, though they would not have any cause to object outright.

“I understand your decision,” Yan said slowly. “But you must be aware how some on the Council, and others in the Temple, might perceive this.” The accusation of attachment was inherent, and Obi-Wan was a quick wit. Yan knew he understood the implication.

Obi-Wan laughed at that, a bright, unexpected sound. “Grandmaster, I’ve been Temple gossip-fodder and under the Council’s collective scrutiny since I was twelve. I’m quite prepared to deal with those particular consequences.”

Well then. Despite the lack of marks on his public record, it seemed Obi-Wan _was_ a troublemaker like Qui-Gon after all. But far more cunning about it, Yan assumed, to have so few formal marks against him in his file.

Again, now was not the time to remark on such things. “Then I will support you in your decision. But should you change your mind, I will offer to take Qui-Gon’s place for the ceremony.”

Obi-Wan looked somewhat surprised at that, a hint of it leaking through his shields; no doubt he had assumed that it would be Yoda, if he had had time enough to even think about that. He bowed at the shoulders. “Your offer is an honor, Grandmaster.”

Yan knew that Obi-Wan deliberately lowered his shields a bit at that so that he could sense the boy’s sincerity, and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles as Obi-Wan straightened. He half-turned as he heard heavy footsteps behind them, turning fully as he saw a _massive_ Mandalorian in full armor approaching them.

“ _Jetiise,_ ” the man greeted them, nodding.

“ _Su’cuy,_ Pol,” Obi-Wan said.

“ _Me’vaar ti gar, Jeti’ika?_ ”

“Ah, _naas?_ ”

Pol laughed. “ _Jate. Ret’urcye mhi._ ”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh of his own at that, and then the man, presumably named Pol from what little of that exchange Yan understood, left them.

“I can’t go fifteen minutes without one of them checking on me,” Obi-Wan grumbled. Yan raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed?”

Obi-Wan waved a hand. “It’s Jango’s doing, I’m sure. Something about how we’re allies in this, and he’s honor-bound to guard us until we’re recovered,” he explained. Yan’s other eyebrow climbed up to join its mate. “I don’t fully understand it, either.”

“Perhaps I will ask him. Though I did notice that I seem to make him a bit… tense,” Yan said slowly. Obi-Wan frowned.

“Yes, I had noticed that as well. He was shocked when you called me Grandpadawan,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “What that means, I have no idea. The two of you have never met?”

“Not to my recollection, and I am fairly certain I would remember meeting the future _Mand’alor,_ ” Yan answered dryly. Obi-Wan laughed.

“I would advise you not to call him that where he can hear you,” Obi-Wan told him. “He takes the election very seriously.”

“Election? Is it not a hereditary title?”

“Not strictly, no. The _Mand’alor_ is elected by the Clan Heads, who speak for their respective kin. Often it is a family member of the previous _Mand’alor_ who is elected, because they’ve spent a lifetime learning at their side, but that’s never a guarantee,” Obi-Wan explained. He paused for a moment, and then grinned a bit ruefully. “Though I think Jango is the only one who doesn’t take his election as a given. The others all seem to think it’s merely a matter of when his father can convince him to take over.”

“Interesting,” Yan murmured. That begged several questions: did Fett even _want_ to be _Mand’alor,_ or were the others making assumptions? Was he afraid of the title, the responsibility? Why else might he decline the position? “Perhaps you would be willing to write a separate report for the Archives on what you’ve learned about them. I’m certain Jocasta would appreciate the information. We have precious little material on modern Mandalorians in the Archives.” He dropped his voice despite the lack of other people around them. “No matter how ‘complete’ she may claim them to be.”

Obi-Wan snorted at that, and then his expression turned thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea, Grandmaster. And yet another good reason for the Council to allow me to stay here on Naboo with Master Qui-Gon.”

“Oh?”

“The Mandalorians will remain here for quite some time, it seems,” Obi-Wan said. “The _Mand’alor_ is visiting, as I’m sure you heard, for a trade summit. As part of that summit, they plan to offer their aid to the Naboo in their rebuilding efforts.”

“I see,” Yan said slowly. Perhaps they would agree to keep Qui-Gon here on Naboo longer than was strictly needed, to give them more time to interact with these Mandalorians. The more time he had, the subtler Yan could be in his investigations. “You’ve spent quite a bit of time with them these past few weeks, haven’t you?” Obi-Wan nodded. “What do you think of them?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “They’re both exactly like the Mandalorians from the old stories, and nothing at all like them. Their honor code is still obviously the same, but more directed, more evolved. These are the Mandalorian warriors who have allowed pacifists to coexist with them, after all. It isn’t mindless violence they’re after, but honorable combat. Which isn’t terribly surprising, given that the _Mand’alor_ is informally known as Mereel the Reformer.”

Yes, Yan had heard as much, but it had meant little to him, lacking any great degree of understanding of Mandalorians. He reached up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “And Jango Fett?”

“He’s a good man,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Very sincere in his desire to help others.”

“But?”

“He’s keeping secrets,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Not that I can blame him. Mandalore allying itself with the Order is unheard of; of course he would hold back, at first.”

“At first?” Yan repeated. “You believe this may become a more permanent arrangement?”

“Everything Jango has said leads me to believe that is the case,” Obi-Wan said. “He believes that the Zabrak we faced is a Sith, and he explicitly stated that if the Sith have returned, Mandalore has no choice but to ally itself with the Order.”

That was a rather humorous statement, Yan thought. They did have another option, and historically, the Mandalorians had taken it: the Sith. Yan had seen the footage from the camp as well as the reactor room recordings, and he knew that the Sith had done a terrible job of courting the Mandalorians. They had left it far too long, and given the Jedi the first opening. Or, it had been a ploy, and the Zabrak had been a sacrificed pawn.

“I’ve been thinking about the Sith, and the Mandalorians,” Obi-Wan admitted, frowning slightly. “I think that Jango is sincere in allying himself with us, rather than the Sith. The Trade Federation was obviously in league with him, and it was the Trade Federation who supported Death Watch, a terrorist organization that committed war crimes against their own people during the civil war.”

“Ah,” Yan said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Just so, Grandmaster,” Obi-Wan agreed. “It’s what convinced me that Jango was genuine in his offer of transport off Tatooine, and it’s what is most convincing to me now. Jango has a deep and personal hatred for Death Watch. It doesn’t surprise me that that hatred would extend to their former allies.”

That was a good case, Yan acknowledged in the privacy of his own thoughts, but it would also be a good cover. If the Mandalorians _did_ intend to align themselves with the Sith as they had so many times before, what better way to do so than to lull them into a false sense of security? But it could well be that the Mandalorians were being honest, especially since Jango Fett had been directly involved in the Sith’s death, and the Zabrak had been well-trained, and likely a valuable pawn they had not planned to sacrifice. Yan sighed; he had a feeling that only time would tell the truth of their intentions.

“I am certain the Council will ask for your thoughts on the matter, as you have spent the most time with Fett and the others,” Yan said. “Now, we should return before the second patrol comes looking for you.”

Obi-Wan huffed at the reminder of his Mandalorian guards, but nodded and stood. He did not begin walking immediately, and Yan raised an eyebrow. Obi-Wan bowed formally to him from the waist. “Thank you, Grandmaster.”

Yan bowed back. “Of course, Grandpadawan.”

* * *

Much as Yan wanted to watch Fett and Obi-Wan’s interactions further, by the time they returned, Mace and Yoda were ready to retire, and Yan was mindful of the fact he could easily push too far and hinder his cause. He would have to wait patiently for his opportunity to observe them in greater detail, and so he bid them goodnight.

Breakfast the following morning was an… interesting affair. The dining room they were led to was large, with several long tables, and there were a good number of people already there. It was the strange mix of them that was interesting to Yan. Mandalorians in their armor, only their helmets off, sat with the Queen’s handmaidens and among the pilots, all of them interacting with a sort of ease Yan was surprised they would have after only a few weeks, regardless of the closeness a shared battle could create.

The Jedi were all led to a table with several of the Mandalorians and a few of the handmaidens; Obi-Wan was already there, seated between Fett and one of the Queen’s handmaidens. Yan deliberately took the seat across from Obi-Wan, Mace sitting to his right and Yoda to his left, across from Fett.

“Good morning, Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted them. He looked a bit better than he had the day before, color starting to come back to his face, although Yan noted that he was still wearing the _beskar_ cuffs. And Fett was, rather unsubtly, staring at him.

“Good morning, Grandpadawan,” Yan returned, and then met Fett’s gaze. The others seemed to notice, and conversation around them stilled. Fett smiled at him, a rather… sharp expression, and Yan quirked an eyebrow.

“It took me a while to remember where I’d heard your name before,” Fett said. Yan blinked—he hadn’t quite expected Fett to address the tension like this, if that was what he was doing. “I read the paper you co-authored with a Master Sifo-Dyas.”

Yan blinked at him again. “You read our dissertation in support of the viability of time travel, using Force visions, and specifically True Sight and Shatterpoints, as our basis for evidence.” He had meant to make that a question, but his voice fell rather flat. Fett nodded easily and reached for what looked like jam, although it was a startling electric green, beginning to spoon it onto his toast as though he had not just confused everyone at the table.

“It was a good companion to Dr. Bahnreet’s work. He should’ve never left Alderaan for Coruscant University. He focused less on weapons before,” Fett continued. Yan was familiar with Dr. Bahnreet’s research, trying to fuse the Force with science. It was dangerous, but fascinating. They knew that in the days before the Old Republic, there had been massive armies that used kyber crystals and the Force itself to power themselves and their weapons, but not _how._ Dr. Bahnreet’s research was certainly dangerous, and could easily be weaponized, though Yan was rather surprised that a _Mandalorian_ would disapprove of that.

“Indeed,” Yan agreed. “I will admit, I am surprised that you read it. I’ve been told it was rather dry, for such an exciting topic.”

Fett chuckled at that and shrugged. “We all have a hobby,” he said. Yan raised an eyebrow at that.

“A rather rare and esoteric hobby at that,” Yan said, allowing a twitch of his lips to indicate his amusement. Fett tipped his head in agreement. “That is not a topic I often get the opportunity to discuss with someone well-informed. Perhaps you would indulge me further at a later time?”

Fett’s grin, again, was just a bit too sharp, a bit too toothy, to be entirely benign. “I would like nothing better.”

Well, how fortuitous. Yan’s smile became a bit wider and more genuine; at least it would not be difficult to engineer a private meeting with Fett. He might even manage to enjoy himself.

“Continue to surprise us, you do,” Yoda remarked warmly, and at that, the other conversations around the table slowly picked up again. Yan allowed the others to take the lead in the conversation with Fett, after that, though he kept his attention on the man.

He wondered if Fett had simply researched him the night before, to find some excuse for his close scrutiny of him the day before, or if he truly had a “hobby” so strange as researching time travel. Ah, well. Even a feigned interest would be enough to cajole Fett, eventually, and hopefully learn more from him than what he thought about the current theories on time travel. Whatever game these Mandalorians were playing, Yan very much wanted to know the rules. Likening this to a game was not inaccurate, and Fett, he was beginning to think, was a worthy opponent in whatever game he had now invited them to play.

Yan smiled into his tea—he might actually enjoy this assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where that conversation between Jango and Dooku came from, but it's now my favorite headcanon that Obi-Wan is a nerd from a long lineage of nerds. Dooku is a Force theory nerd, Qui-Gon is a botany nerd, and Obi-Wan is a culture nerd (and just a nerd in general, remember how he wanted to study the mind control worm on Geonosis? Yeeeah). Anakin continues the tradition as a tech nerd. Ahsoka is probably the only one who's well rounded, and that's likely because she didn't exactly have time for hobbies as a war Padawan and then a spy. But that lineage... They're Jedi geeks.


End file.
